Labor of Love
by MendaciousMinx
Summary: When Gavroche and Eponine meet in Heaven, they think nothing can go wrong again. But after making a promise to help redeem a man of his sins, they find themselves in England under the care of an unhappy Javert, his immortal soul resting in their hands.
1. In My Life

A/N: So… you can totally tell I'm mourning for my favorite characters can't you? Yeah, it's pretty obvious. Ah, well. This is unbetaed, deal with it. I hope I finish it. I usually do.

Disclaimer: Gavroche, Eponine and Javert belong to one Mr. Victor Hugo, now dead, and I claim no rights to them whatsoever.

* * *

Gavroche blinked around in confusion. The barricade no longer loomed above him, the bodies of the dead had vanished, all replaced by a white void. When he looked down it was to see his ragged clothes washed and pressed, his various satchels missing. His hands were clean, gone was the dirt beneath the nails which had been there since the day of his birth. "What in the name of--"

"Gavroche?"

The young urchin took note of the fact that he no longer had lungs. If he had, they would have stopped functioning at the sound of that voice. "'Ponine?" He whirled around to see his dead sister standing behind him, her expression as shocked as his own.

"You _died_?" she exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at him. "How could you _die_? You're a child, you're not supposed to die!"

Ignoring his sister's confused babbling, Gavroche ran beneath her quivering hand to throw his arms around her waist. He pressed his face firmly into her dress, and refused to budge an inch. Finally, her expression softening, Eponine let her arms fall around her little brother.

For quite some time they stood like that, simply coming to terms with each other's unexpected presence. After a few moments, however, they were interrupted by a clipped cough.

"Ahem." A man with a pointed face stepped out of the white, wearing a pair of thin glasses. His hair was pulled straight back from his face, and everything about him looked stretched, as though someone had taken hold of his head and his feet and pulled. "As tender as this moment appears to be for the both of you, there are things to be done. You'll forgive me if I request that you save your sentimentality for later."

"Who're you?" Gavroche asked insolently, only to be silenced by Eponine's hand on his shoulder.

"He's an administrator of Heaven," Eponine replied. "He's been waiting here with me since yesterday, but he wouldn't tell me who for. I guess it was you."

Gavroche blinked owlishly. "An adminiwhosit of what?"

"Heaven," sniffed the administrator. "Congratulations, you've both made the cut, if only by a little. The both of you have taken what was never yours, but you took it only out of necessity. You, Eponine, have been jealous, but you never acted on your jealousy. These are halfway sins, and forgiven. Unlike your... less than virtuous parents, you have been kind and good--" The administrator paused for a moment, and seemed to be thinking. "I wonder... would you do one favor for the man about to arrive? It would certainly mean much to him, though he will not appreciate it immediately, and it will be but the slightest inconvenience to you in the face of eternity."

Gavroche opened his mouth to refuse, but Eponine flicked his ear. "Of course, good administrator. It would be our pleasure." To Gavroche, she hissed, "We only made it in by a hair. Don't ruin it now."

A wide smile split the administrator's face, looking more like a grimace than anything. "Marvelous! How good of you. He should be along any minute--"

The administrator's words were cut off by the sudden appearance of a disheveled-looking man in a police uniform. He clambered to his feet, his hair in disarray and his face harried. "Where in God's name--"

"You!" Gavroche howled, coming to stand in front of his sister. "What're you doing here? You ought to be rotting in Hell, _Inspector Javert!"_

Javert straightened and turned to narrow his eyes at the young urchin. "You're the little guttersnipe who uncovered my identity at the barricade!" His eyes turned to Eponine. "And who is she? Some backstreet whore dead in the battle, no doubt."

Eponine could barely hold Gavroche back as he snarled and lunged for Javert. "Don't you ever talk about my sister like that, you slimy old--"

The administrator stepped between them, hands spread. "Now, now, gentlemen, no need for that. Gavroche, Eponine, this is Javert. Javert, you'd best be kind to these children. They are all that stand between you and damnation."

Silence fell like a brick released from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

"What?" Javert hissed, his voice oozing with suspicion.

From the looks on their faces, Eponine and Gavroche were just as apprehensive about this change of mood.

His sly smile growing, the administrator turned to the Thenardier siblings. "Why, did you not agree just moments ago to do a favor for the man expected to arrive next?"

"Yeah," Gavroche spat, "But we didn't know it'd be _him_."

"Ah, but that is the risk you take when making promises." He turned to Javert. "In life you were an honest man. You fought for what you thought was justice, and put many evil men behind bars. However, you also imprisoned many innocent people. Your good and bad are almost evenly balanced, but the evil outweighs the other by just the barest hint of a fraction. Since this is such a borderline case, we are prepared to offer you a second chance. These two children never had a proper father. We will place you all back on earth, your bodies repaired, in England where no one will recognize you. You, Javert, will be a father to these children and take on whatever duties that entails. If they can come to care for you and you for them, in spite of the crimes for which you know they are guilty, then you will be welcomed into Heaven with open arms upon your passing. If, however, no love grows between you, the children will remain in Heaven under our care and you, Javert, will be sent to the eternal flame."

There was a long, pregnant pause.

"Then we're agreed!" chirped the administrator cheerfully, and he clapped his hands three times. The white of their surroundings became blinding, and when they could see again they were standing in the sitting room of a large, Victorian house.

"Well," Eponine murmured dizzily, "That was sudden."

Then she fell to the floor in a dead faint.

* * *

A/N: I'd love to hear from you. I love all reviews, but critiques make my heart jump around all funny and rainbows dance on my walls. 


	2. Castle on a Cloud

A/N: I know this chapter's short, but I have more. I just liked the stopping place for this one and I'm pacing myself. Don't worry, I'll probably post another chapter by tomorrow. The shorter they are, the more frequently they come.

Disclaimer: The late Victor Hugo is the sole owner of Javert, Gavroche and Eponine.

* * *

Gavroche tried to catch his sister, but he was half her size. He staggered under the weight, and toppled back into Javert. Together the three of them went tumbling to the floor, Javert on the bottom of a weighty pile of Thenardiers. With a disgusted hiss, he disentangled himself from them and retreated. "Vile," he muttered, "Loathsome, despicable—"

"Despicable, he says!" Gavroche crowed, wrestling his sister into a more comfortable position on the floor. "I dunno what that means, but I'd be willing to bet it's nothing good!" He turned narrow eyes on Javert. "And it's that kinda talk that'll land you in Hell."

Javert clenched his teeth, willing himself not to strike the boy. If he were to make it through this, violence would not be a good way to start. Instead, he simply turned and strode from the room.

He assumed that the house was meant for their use. Absently, he realized that he would have to hire staff—it was far too large to be taken care of without. A grand staircase led up to the second floor, where he found a library, a study, and three bedrooms, all bare of decoration. For himself he took the smallest. It had probably been intended for Gavroche, but Javert was uncomfortable with the large, airy house. His apartment in Paris had been very small, and this bedroom was comparable to it in size.

Javert lowered himself to the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands.

Meanwhile in the sitting room, Eponine was coming to. She sat up, Gavroche perched beside her with a quizzical expression on his face. "What'd you faint for?" he asked curiously. "You've never fainted before, not as I've seen."

Eponine smiled, shrugging. "I guess it's just the surprise of it all. Maybe the, er, coming back to life didn't agree with me."

"Come on," Gavroche said suddenly, "I think the bedrooms're upstairs. Can you imagine? A real bed! Have you ever slept in one of those?"

Laughing, his sister rose to follow him. "A long time ago, I think."

When they reached the top of the stairs, the first door they opened led to the library. "Odds-bobs," Gavroche said, his voice full of wonder. "Wonder if I can get old Badge Bottom to teach me to read!"

Peering into the two unoccupied bedrooms, Gavroche quickly claimed the largest. It was the master bedroom, and Eponine rolled her eyes at him. After a quick tussle, she threw her arms into the air and retreated to the middle bedroom. Dark was approaching.

All three occupants of the house prepared themselves for bed in their own ways. Javert hung up his coat and hat, setting his shining boots beside the door and folding his clothes in the dresser. There was no nightshirt there, so he slid into bed in his undergarments and lay awake for some time, staring at the ceiling. Eponine tossed her coat and shoes into a corner, climbing beneath the covers in her worn cotton shift and falling immediately asleep. Gavroche deigned only to remove his boots and hat. Once that was done, he hopped into the far-too-large bed and closed his eyes.

Not much time had passed before Gavroche woke, his eyes bleary with sleep, and rolled onto his other side. At the lack of resistance, he shot upright and his eyes widened. He was alone, he realized. No one sharing his bed. This should be a good change, he thought. I should be happy about this. Rich boys sleep alone every night. For a moment he tried to be pleased, but he soon gave up and threw himself out of bed. Running across the carpeted floor in his stocking feet, he threw open Eponine's door. She sat up slowly, turning her head to face him. He stood nervously at the door, fingers clutching at his sleeves, and Eponine smirked gently and tossed back a corner of the covers. Gavroche dove beneath them and soon was fitfully asleep, his head resting on his sister's arm and hers upon the pillow.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading chapter two.

LesMisLoony: I'm glad to have piqued your interest! Sorry about the Eiffel Tower thing—I'm a dumb American. As such, where France is involved continuity errors are never far behind. Hope to hear from you again!

Chorus girl 24601: Love your name, very nice. We should be seeing more of Javert's fatherly side soon. Just hold on until they go clothes shopping. Right now he's still a police dog—we just have to wait for the kids to turn him into a puppy.


	3. Little People

A/N: This chapter's a bit longer, and I hope you'll enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Gavroche, Javert and Eponine belong to Victor Hugo.

* * *

Javert stepped into the kitchen the next morning to find the Thenardier girl there already. She was standing at the stove frying several eggs, and when he entered she smiled tentatively at him. "Good morning," she said, nudging the eggs with a wooden spoon.

He forced himself not to sneer. Instead he walked brusquely past Eponine, taking an apple from the basket beside the water basin and sitting down at the table, refusing to look at her.

Behind him, Eponine rolled her eyes. "Men," she muttered, too softly for him to hear, and portioned the eggs out onto three plates. Setting one before Javert, she sat across from him so that he could not avoid meeting her eyes. He glanced down at the eggs, his lip twisting in distaste, but before he could open his mouth to object she intervened. "They're eggs. They came from a chicken, just like all the other eggs you've ever eaten. I didn't steal them; I found them in this kitchen. If it makes you more comfortable, I haven't touched them since they went in the pan. Eat them. An apple won't hold you 'til lunch, not that I haven't gone on less."

For a moment, Javert was speechless. He hunted for his voice, recovered it, and mentally gave it a firm talking-to for abandoning him in his hour of need. "You," he said finally, "Are far more blunt than a thief ought to be."

Eponine sighed. "Javert, I have no interest in your silly grudges. I've made you breakfast. Eat it. If you don't, you're rude. Think of it as teaching me manners."

With extreme and painfully obvious reluctance, Javert began to eat the eggs.

At that moment, Gavroche came galloping down the stairs with all the zeal of a stampede. Without stopping to exchange pleasantries, he snatched his plate up from the counter and shoveled its contents into his mouth with his bare hands.

Eponine did not so much as raise an eyebrow, having become accustomed to this behavior. She was barely restraining herself from taking part in similar activities, and held herself back only for the sake of making a good impression. Gavroche, however, was unconcerned. In a matter of seconds, the eggs were gone. Through his last mouthful he thanked Eponine and snatched up several apples from the basket. Plopping down at the table beside his sister, he took a large bite out of the first and began to chew. Only then did he notice that Javert was staring at him across the table.

He stopped chewing. "What?"

"Your table manners," Javert said, disgust clearly written across his face, "Are atrocious."

Gavroche grinned devilishly and chewed the apple with renewed vigor.

With another heavy sigh, Eponine set her plate on the counter and wandered away. As she passed the front door, the bell rang and she jumped. Cautiously, she opened it and peered outside. Standing on the doorstep was a plump woman in a dark purple dress, furiously waving a black lace fan. Upon seeing Eponine she raised her eyebrows. "Is your master in? I am eager to meet my new neighbors!" Her voice was deep and resonating.

For a moment Eponine was confused, then she looked down and realized she was still dressed in the rags she had worn on the day of her death. The woman must think her a servant. Forcing a smile onto her face, Eponine returned her gaze to the woman at the door. "I believe you have mistaken me, Madame. You see..." Her brain began to whir busily. What lie could she tell that this woman would believe? "Yesterday, while our... coach... carried us to this house, we were attacked by bandits. They took all the clothes we had--all of my dresses, my father's and brother's shirts and coats. We begged them to leave us our modesty, so they took pity on us and gave us some of their own rags. A policeman loaned his coat and hat to my father. It was so late when we arrived that we couldn't go for new things, so we must wear these until we can purchase more appropriate clothing."

The woman's eyes widened. "Oh, you poor dear!" She threw her arms around Eponine, nearly suffocating the waif. "Such a trying ordeal for a girl of such a tender age! Why, I shall take you to market with me this very day and we shall choose a new wardrobe for you. You poor, poor dear!"

Gavroche chose this moment to walk in, wiping the apple bits from his face. Confusion was written clearly in his eyes when he spied the large woman smothering his sister. Before he could get a word out, however, their new neighbor spotted him.

"Oh!" she shrieked, swooping past Eponine to pull a startled Gavroche to her breast. "You tiny, precious little thing! Seldom have I seen such a rare sight. You are a treasure! Won't you tell me your name, you sweet child?"

Eyes wide, he stared up at her. "G-Gavroche..."

"A splendid name," she cried, pinching his cheek until he winced. "Won't you come ask Auntie Mable if ever you need anything at all? It's been so long since I've had a little one of my own—Oh, you sweet, precious little thing!" She dragged Gavroche into another embrace.

"What is this disturbance?" Javert's cold voice cut through the stifling warm radiating from Mable like the scythe of death. The three of them looked up to see him standing in the door of the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest and his spine as straight as a ramrod.

Mable released Gavroche, who staggered gasping to the stair rail. She strode in Javert's direction and, heedless of his obviously icy nature, patted his cheek sympathetically. "Your darling children have told me of your misfortune yesterday, and I would like to offer you my deepest regrets that your first day here should be so trying. I request permission to bring your children to market and make presents of a new wardrobe for each of them. You may consider it my housewarming gift. I would be pleased to have your lady wife along as well."

Javert did not move, though a vein in his forehead had begun to pulse the moment she touched his cheek. "I have no wife," he said stiffly.

A look of shocked horror crossed Mable's face, and Eponine and Gavroche had to bite themselves to keep from laughing when she clutched Javert to her just as mercilessly as she had each of them.

"You are a saint, sir!" she cried, seeming close to tears, "Caring for these children on your own while burdened by the loss of your wife! Oh, the tragedy of it! That people as good as you still grace our world gives me hope for the future of this country and all others! Of course you must accompany us to market—I shall purchase your new clothing too, if only because I am so moved by your labor of love!"

While hearing these honeyed words in junction with Javert brought the children close enough to a breakdown of hilarity, the look on the former inspector's face was far more priceless still. His eyes bulged, his lips parted in a terrified snarl. His hair seemed to rise on his head and his right eye began to twitch convulsively.

After weeping on his shoulder for what seemed to Javert like an agonizingly long time, Mable released him and stood back. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she beckoned them toward her coach where it waited outside. "Come," she said, "Let us be off quickly and have you in new clothes by noon!"

Javert almost demanded to be left behind, but quickly realized that such a thing would be foolishness. He did not know if they had been given any money with the house, and certainly he needed new clothes. Sighing, he followed her out.

The three of them and Mable barely managed to squeeze themselves into the carriage, but no sooner had the last of their patroness's petticoats disappeared through the door than the horses were off at a trot and they were on their way to market. Mable chatted enthusiastically with a significantly less enthusiastic Javert, while Gavroche and Eponine were left to stare out the windows. When Mable let out a shrieking laugh at something Javert had said—or, more likely, failed to say—Eponine turned to her brother.

"Have you noticed," she murmured quietly, "That we understand what Mable says?"

Gavroche nodded, looking up from where he'd been fiddling with the lace at the edge of the seat. "Yeah. So?"

Eponine rolled her eyes. "So we're in England. The administrator said so. We don't know English, only French."

The urchin boy's brows knit together in a thoughtful frown. "Come to think of it, you're right. But then... is she speaking French of English?"

Together they listened for a moment to Mable's ongoing chatter, and finally shared a shrug. "No idea," Eponine said. "Must be part of the... whatever-thing that gave us our bodies back."

"What are you two secretive creatures whispering about?" Mable inquired, her small eyes bright with merriment.

"Nothing, ma'am," Eponine quickly replied. "Just... talking about how much Mother would have liked it here."

Quite suddenly they were both in Mable's lap, and she was sobbing passionately above them. Javert was, as surreptitiously as possible, attempting to relocate himself on the other side of the carriage. These plans were foiled, however, when he found that he, too, had been caught up in Mable's embrace. Glowering at Eponine for making the thoughtless comment, he tried to extract himself from the tangle only to have Mable hold tighter and cry harder the more he struggled. Finally, he gave up and resigned himself to the awkward position.

Eventually they did arrive at market, and while Javert ignored his bustling surroundings Eponine and Gavroche could manage no such thing. The only markets they had been to were the bazaar-like street vendors of the St. Michel slums. This was nothing like those—to their left and right, as far as the eye could see, tall storefronts flaunted jewelry, hats, dresses, suits and shoes. From one window all manner of children's toys gleamed and glittered, and Mable tried to point out a handsome rocking horse to Gavroche. It was no good, however, for Gavroche's eyes were glued to the bakery next door.

Mable laughed. "After you've chosen your clothes, we'll get you a treat. How's that sound?"

The boy gawked up at her. "Really?" he asked, eyes wide. "You'll really buy me something from there?"

"Of course," she replied, "We shall have our lunch there. But first, I shall take Eponine to my favorite shop for her dresses. The two of you may shop where you wish—I have a tab in almost every store, you may put it on that. Now, off with you! We shall meet at the bakery at noon, and I expect both of you to be dressed in fine new clothes!"

Eager to escape from Mable's presence, Javert grabbed Gavroche by the collar and dragged him into the nearest shop. As soon as they were inside he dropped the struggling waif unceremoniously to the floor and strode purposefully away from him.

Gavroche stumbled to his feet, wondering irritably why everyone kept manhandling him. Deciding to give Javert a piece of his mind, he stomped toward the back of the shop where the policeman stood, gazing uninterestedly at a rack of unnecessarily frilly shirts.

"Hey," the urchin snapped, crossing his arms.

Javert raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly, turning his head a fraction to stare at Gavroche. "Yes?"

The young guttersnipe let out a stream of words that ought never to be uttered in _impolite_ company, much less a store frequented by the upper class. The former inspector stared down at his charge in unconcealed shock and Gavroche glared back and planted his hands on his hips. "Yeah, you heard me. And another thing—"

Javert clapped his hand over Gavroche's mouth, fearing a scene, only to pull it away with a yelp when he felt teeth clamp down on his fingers. "You little brat," he growled, reaching for Gavroche again. The much smaller boy dodged easily, sending his caretaker careening into the rack he had been so recently studying. With a bellow of rage the inspector emerged, a clothing hanger swinging from one ear and a decidedly foppish mauve shirt draped in all its frilly glory across his shoulders.

Gavroche, his survival instinct taking over in full force, dove beneath the mass of shirts strewn about the floor before Javert's eyes could fall on him and lay very still. For a moment there was silence, Javert's gaze moving from shirt to shirt, wondering which one hid his quarry. Gavroche, in the meantime, was biting his hand almost hard enough to draw blood. The image of a roaring Javert dripping with lacy shirts was emblazoned on his memory, and it was all he could do not to dissolve into hysterics. Finally he could hold it no more, and let out a stifled giggle. He bit down again on his hand quickly, eyes widening in fear, but it was too late.

Javert's roving gaze stopped on a chartreuse shirt that had just quivered slightly and giggled at him. If that wasn't a sure sign of human occupation, nothing was. Silently, stealthily, he made his way over to the shirt and leaned down before ripping the offending article away and snatching Gavroche from beneath it. Once he knew he'd been found, the boy no longer tried to hide his laughter and doubled over in a fit of hilarity.

"What exactly is so funny?" Javert asked, irritated and confused.

Gavroche giggled, the policeman's tone doing nothing to dampen his mood. Between streams of laughter, he managed "You—should've—seen—your—face!"

Javert stared down at the hysterical child before him, holding the boy at arm's length. Though he might later deny it, he felt his lips quirk up in what was undeniably a small, confused smile.

"Sir," said a nervous-looking man in pointed shoes, "I am afraid that you and your son shall have to leave. Your horseplay has made a mess of our display."

Javert, his attention snapping back to the matter at hand, nodded stiffly and strode out the door. He fully expected Gavroche to follow him, and he was not disappointed. The boy shuffled out behind his surrogate father, still giggling quietly to himself. His ragged hat was slightly askew and his too-large coat had slipped down over his hands, making him look much smaller than he was. Javert stared down at him for a moment, brows drawn together, considering their predicament.

"Boy," he said finally, and the boy looked up at him expectantly. "You will never bite me again. Is that understood?"

For a moment Gavroche just eyed him incredulously. "I wouldn't have bitten you if you hadn't tried to suffocate me!"

Javert bristled. "I was not trying to suffocate you! I was attempting to silence you!"

"Yeah—by suffocating me!"

The inspector hissed between his teeth, glowering down at the child. "I would not have had need if you hadn't cursed so foully in a public place!"

"It's my business what I say!"

"Not when it may offend and alarm those around us! You must keep a civil tongue around members of the upper class or risk a scene!"

Gavroche pouted. "Fine," he said sulkily, "I won't curse no more."

"You won't curse _any_more," Javert corrected. "And how do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Swear on my honor I won't curse _any_more," Gavroche said, sneering.

Javert sniffed. "A thief's honor is worth nothing. Swear on something else."

Gavroche's eyes wandered around the square in search of something to swear by. "I swear on... on... on my lunch! I swear on my lunch I won't curse anymore!"

Javert seemed to find that satisfactory, and said simply "I'll hold you to that," before leading the boy away in the direction of another shop.

* * *

A/N: This fic is probably going to have more Gavroche than Eponine, if only because Eponine is less argumentative. I hope no one minds.

LesMisLoony: Don't worry, gooey and Javert don't go together easily. While he may have a few sappy things to say, usually his changes will be shown through his actions and not his words. As for Gavroche, I'm trying to make him as cute as I can without giving him Bambi eyes and a quivering lip. As he's said himself, he's a pup—but he's got some bite.


	4. Lovely Ladies

A/N: WE AT LABOR OF LOVE INCORPORATED ARE SHOCKED AND APPALLED AT THE LACK OF REVIEWS WE HAVE BEEN RECEIVING. IF YOU ENJOY THIS STORY, PLEASE COME FORWARD AND SAY SO. IT'S COMMON COURTESY. THANK YOU.

Disclaimer: We at Labor of Love Incorporated are also a non-profit organization. Monsieur Hugo reserves all rights to Gavroche, Javert and Eponine.

* * *

While Javert and Gavroche came to their grudging truce, Eponine had entered Hell. She had been stuffed into a corset that seemed on the verge of crushing her ribs, buttoned in and out of dresses, skirts, blouses and gowns--Mable had even taken her to a salon where her hair had been twisted and yanked into a modestly fashionable style. Finally, after their new neighbor had shoved her into a bottle green dress with cream piping and lace, a hat was pinned over her tortured hair and Mable stood back to admire her handiwork.

She looked marvelous, there was no denying that--and at least a dozen other items had been sent back to her new home to keep her looking just as marvelous. If this was what Eponine would have to go through every time she went out, she was quite determined to become a hermit.

"Time for lunch," Mable chirped, and took Eponine's hand--now gloved in cream silk--to lead her to the bakery. When they arrived there it was to find Javert looking as stiff as usual in a simple white shirt tucked into black trousers, which were in turn tucked into black boots. The ensemble was almost entirely covered by a new black greatcoat with two rows of silver buttons.

Gavroche looked terribly pleased. He wore black trousers under a green jacket with gold piping, above the collar of which peeked a white shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons. His feet were clad in a miniature pair of Javert's boots, and he was amusing himself by imitating the policeman. He stood beside the much older man; both of them ramrod straight, Gavroche's face twisted into a mockingly overdone frown, brows drawn down ridiculously low. He couldn't hold the face for long, however, and upon seeing Eponine he was overcome by his usual grin.

"'Ponine," he cried, running to her and grabbing her hand. "You look great! And look at me! Javert doesn't like my coat, I can tell--that's why I picked it!"

Eponine laughed in spite of the pinching it caused. "You look just like a gentleman. Hey, we match--both green!"

They laughed, and Gavroche pulled her toward the counter. "Come on, come on, I'm starving! Let's eat!"

They eventually finished their meal, interrupted several times by Javert, who had taken it upon himself to teach Gavroche table manners and had to snap at him every few minutes. Gavroche, of course, took each reprimand as an invitation to eat even more messily. Eponine worried that Mable would find this behavior disgusting, but the older woman simply laughed. "Such a healthy appetite," she would chortle now and again.

Mable insisted on paying the bill--which was good, because they had no money--and soon enough they were once again in the coach on their way home. Once more the air was filled with Mable's chatter and Javert's almost palpable animosity for the woman. When they finally arrived in front of the house it was edging into the afternoon and Mable excused herself, saying she was having guests for dinner. "I'd invite you, but it's the Jacobsons. Dreadful people. Mr. Jacobson's wife is a friend of my niece, or I wouldn't have them over."

Entering the house, Javert retreated to the library. Gavroche moved off toward the kitchen, only to be blocked by Eponine. "Rich people don't have to eat between meals," she explained. "Something about spoiling the appetite. Anyway, you'll have to do something else."

Rolling his eyes, Gavroche began to scour the sitting room for something that might occupy his time. Soon enough he found a deck of cards in a cupboard and started up a game of singles.

Eponine drifted out to the garden and shivered with the chill. It was winter, after all, even though it had been sunny and warm today. The night was coming on fast, and with it the cold. She had endured far worse, however, and made her way along the path until she reached a bench beside the fence that overlooked the street. There she sat and watched the carriages go by, observing the people who walked along the lane. Usually they walked in pairs, but sometimes alone. On occasion she spied a large group of six or ten boys or girls, talking loudly amongst themselves. As one group of four schoolboys sauntered by, she was reminded of Marius and hid her face in her hands. She wondered, not for the first time, if he had survived.

Soon it had grown dark, and she was about to head inside to make dinner when a muffled yelp caught her attention. Her eyes swept the street until they sighted an alley in which some sort of commotion was taking place. Eyes narrowing, Eponine stood and made her way determinedly through the front gate. When she reached the alley and could see more clearly what was going on, cold rage swelled inside of her.

Three men in fine coats and hats had pinned a street girl against the stones and torn her blouse. Not here, Eponine thought. Not in my new home. I will not have it here. I will not tolerate it. "Get off her, you jackals! Leave her alone!"

The offenders squinted down the alley at her, obviously intoxicated. The one who held the girl must have loosened his hold, for she was off like a shot and vanished around the corner. Eponine, however, had no alley to escape down. She stood by the open street, nowhere to hide, cursing herself for her inability to stay quiet.

"Well, well," slurred the biggest, grinning lopsidedly. "We let a mouse get away, and find a fox instead!"

They moved closer, Eponine backing slowly away into the street. The foot traffic had stopped completely by now, and no one saw when one of the three men reached out to grab her. He began to pull her into the alley and she screamed with every ounce of strength she had. Another man clapped a hand over her mouth and she bit it. He cursed and slapped her hard across the face. "Bloody witch!" he howled, ripping the hat from her head. Eponine cried out again, feeling the hatpins come loose with some of her hair. She stomped at the feet of the man who held her, but he danced away with surprising agility for one so inebriated.

Just as the third man began to tear at her buttons, he was felled by a blow to the back of the head. The man holding her soon followed, tumbling to the ground and very nearly taking Eponine with him, but she was snatched from his arms mid-fall and pushed toward the mouth of the alley by insistent hands, where Gavroche was waiting. Her little brother stood with his back to her, shouting insults down the alley. She looked back just in time to see Javert's stick thud against the last man's stomach, sending him to his knees, followed by a quick strike to the head. When all three were unconscious, the inspector stood and dusted off the front of his shirt. Without a word to Eponine, he crossed the street back to their house and disappeared inside.

Gavroche refused to leave her side the rest of the night, even going so far as to help her make dinner. This action involved less helping than it did being shooed away from the unfinished meal by his scolding sister. All the while he chattered away, telling her how he'd heard her scream and ran to get Javert. He scoffed at the policeman's handling of the situation, saying that if it'd been him he would've at least asked her if she was all right afterward.

Eponine just smiled. Not only had Javert bludgeoned three upper class men--the types he usually supported--for the sake of a guttersnipe, he had been in such a hurry to do it that he had forgotten to put on his boots.

Perhaps the incorruptible Javert was not beyond saving just yet.

* * *

A/N: AS PREVIOUSLY STATED, REVIEWS ARE APPRECIATED MORE THAN YOU KNOW.

LesMisLoony: Thank you again for being one of my only reviewers thus far. I am truly grateful for your patronage. As for the chapter "Little People", I was listening to my friend scream over the phone about her bad boyfriend when I wrote it. That relationship is always good for a laugh, which is probably why it turned out so funny. I can only hope the others are as interesting.


	5. Turning

A/N: Oh, thank the heavens there are actually people reading this. But all the rest of you, just because three people reviewed instead of the usual one, THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU'RE OFF THE HOOK. I JUST WROTE THE THREE ANGSTIEST CHAPTERS OF MY ENTIRE LIFE, I'M LIABLE TO DO ANYTHING! I OUGHT TO BE LOCKED UP, I TELL YOU!

Disclaimer: Gavroche, Javert and Eponine are the property of Monsieur Hugo.

* * *

The next day dawned cold and stayed cold, so the house's occupants spent most of it sitting around the house. Javert left the library only to eat and correct Gavroche's table manners, but otherwise seemed content to study the books upstairs. He avoided conversation (not that that was unusual), and the children didn't complain.

While most their age would have been struck by cabin fever, Gavroche and Eponine enjoyed the day immensely. Never before had they been granted the luxury of laying about the house all day, and while his sister changed into a light cotton dress Gavroche never removed the nightshirt Javert had insisted he pick out. The two of them whiled away the hours playing cards and talking in front of the roaring fireplace in the sitting room. In the afternoon Eponine went out for groceries, using some of the money they had found stashed away in a silver box on the mantelpiece.

The day after that Javert woke to the sight of snow outside his window. Shrugging, he dressed quickly and made his way downstairs to build up the fire, joining the Thenardiers for breakfast before vanishing into the library again. He had been there several hours when a pair of small stocking feet padded across the floor to stop beside him.

"What is it?" Javert asked without looking up from his book.

There was a pause. "What're you reading?"

"A book."

Gavroche kicked the leg of his chair. "I know _that_, you sod. I _meant_ what are you reading about?"

"I am reading a book about a little boy who talked too much and had his tongue cut out by an enraged policeman."

This did not have its desired effect. Instead of shutting up and skittering away in terror, Gavroche stuck his tongue out at him. "Bet you're not."

Javert snorted. "How would you know? You can't read."

Suddenly, Gavroche's face brightened. "Say, I've been thinking about that! I mean, we've got this big old library and all these books. If people spend that much time writing books then they've gotta be worth reading, right? So I thought maybe you could teach me how!"

Javert's eyes widened fractionally. "No. Absolutely not."

"But--"

"No! I will not teach you to read. Ask your sister to teach you." Javert forced his eyes to the page with finality.

Gavroche crossed his arms. "'Ponine only just barely reads and writes, she can't teach me how."

"That," Javert snapped, "Is not my problem."

Gavroche muttered something like "Stubborn old police mutt," under his breath, but Javert ignored it. The urchin wandered away, weaving through the shelves until a book caught his eye. It was red, with gold-embossed letters on the spine. He reached for it, only to find a large hand blocking his way.

"No."

"But I just wanna--"

"No! I spent all of yesterday alphabetizing this collection by author. I will not have you shuffling the books."

A sly grin found its way onto Gavroche's face. "If I knew my alphabet, I wouldn't have to mess your alphabetawhosit, would I?"

For a long moment, Javert just fumed. Turning abruptly, he stalked over to a line of cupboards along the back wall. Yanking one open, he drew out a slate and a bit of chalk and made his way back to the table where his book lay abandoned. Slowly and decisively, he drew two straight lines on the board like an arrow pointing up, with another connecting them in the middle. Beside it he drew what looked like a circle with a tail. Shoving the slate at Gavroche, he pointed to the strange shapes.

"This is an upper-case 'A'. This is a lower-case 'A'. 'A' is the first letter of the alphabet. It is used at the beginning of the word..." Javert cast about for an appropriate word. "Arrest. 'A' is for 'Arrest'. Now, erase them and draw them again from memory."

They got all the way to 'F' (for 'Felon') before Eponine called them down to lunch.

"Can I learn more letters after lunch?" Gavroche asked, eyes gleaming with excitement.

"That's quite enough for today," Javert said irritably. "If I teach you any more before you've had time to absorb it, the information is liable to sneak out your ears. Tomorrow we'll try to get to 'L'."

Gavroche snorted. "Let me guess--for 'Law'?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'Loud'," Javert snapped, but he could feel that traitorous little smile creeping onto his face again.

* * *

A/N: Again, my thanks to those who reviewed this story and my encouragement for others to join them. After about two more chapters, three REALLY FREAKING AGSTY ONES will come along. I'm hoping you'll be able to handle it, but seeing as you're all fans of a piece of media with a name that means "The Miserable Ones" I'm thinking you'll be okay.

Princess Shlay: Thank you for your review. As for your being hooked, I hope so—too few people are reading this without the ones who already are dropping off the subscription list.

CelticHeiressFiona: Good to see you traversing some of my other fanfictions! I'm pleased to have you here at Labor of Love, and hope you'll stay with it to the end.

LesMisLoony: As always, it is a pleasure to hear from you. Your long reviews never fail to bring a smile to my face. Concerning where I can go from here, I have written five more chapters after this. None of them have original characters in them, save for a few very brief appearances of Mable. I think, however, that I may introduce a new face in the chapters after that.


	6. Who Am I?

A/N: Another chapter.

Disclaimer: Gavroche, Eponine and Javert belong to Victor Hugo.

* * *

The following day dawned just as snowy as its predecessor, but now the ground was covered by several feet of the wet flakes. Javert lit the large fireplaces in the sitting room and upstairs study, along with the stove in the kitchen to help heat the rest of the house. After breakfast Gavroche followed him to the library, but they quickly decided to move the lesson to the study because it was warmer.

Beginning with the letter 'G' for 'Guard', they made their way down to 'L' which, just to irk the boy, Javert matched with the word 'Loud'. Instead of being offended, however, Gavroche just grinned smarmily up at him.

"That all the letters for today?" he inquired, playing with the cover of one of Javert's books.

"Yes. Tomorrow I shall teach you through 'R'. Now, go bother your sister—I still have to finish reading my book about the loud-mouthed little boy who gets his head cut off."

Gavroche crossed his arms. "I thought he got his tongue cut out."

Javert sighed. "The policeman cut out his tongue and then cut off his head. Then he buried the little boy where no one would ever find him and lived happily ever after."

"No he didn't. The boy came back as a ghost and haunted him the rest of his life."

"The policeman hired an exorcist, obviously, to get rid of the ghost."

"But the exorcist turned out to be a fake old codger who didn't know what he was doing, and the boy's ghost didn't leave."

"So the policeman decided to live in a church where the ghost couldn't come because the boy had stolen too often during his life."

"And the ghost floated around outside the church and sang dirty drinking songs as loud as he could when the policeman was trying to sleep."

"Either way," Javert said, shooing the urchin out of the room, "It all comes down to the little boy being a loud-mouthed brat who won't shut up."

"I want to learn more letters!" The waif planted his feet and refused to budge.

Javert frowned. "I will teach you more tomorrow, Gavroche. Now, go help Eponine with lunch or something."

Gavroche suddenly whirled around, causing Javert to almost lose his balance. When he looked down to scold the boy, he found himself meeting two wide eyes in a shocked face.

"What is it?" he asked, suspicious.

The boy seemed unable to speak. Finally, though, he found his voice. "You... you called me by my name. And 'Ponine, too. Instead of 'boy' or 'girl', you used our names. You've never done that before."

For a moment Javert just stared down at the little slip of a boy. Shaking his head as though to clear it, he made a halfhearted shooing gesture at Gavroche. "Go and help your sister with lunch."

Gavroche grinned impishly. "All right. See you around noon, _Javert_."

After lunch Gavroche sat down to another game of singles in front of the fire, while Eponine decided to comb the library for books she could read. Javert was returing one of his own books to the shelf when she arrived, and she smiled at him. He returned a curt nod and, drawing another book from the shelf, turned to leave. Before he reached the door, however, Eponine hailed him.

"Thank you," she said, "For teaching Gavroche how to read. I know he's probably forgotten to thank you himself, or he's too stubborn."

Javert shrugged. "He seems to want to learn more out of boredom than anything. Aren't children supposed to play in the snow? Isn't that some sort of rule?"

Eponine smiled sadly. "Rich children, maybe. But not street children. For us, the snow is evil. Every winter we lose friends and family to the snow, or the bitter cold kills limbs that you'll never use again. To play in the snow is foolishness—your clothes get damp, and then the chill soaks through faster." There was a pause, but she continued. "One year, when I was twelve years old, I found a little boy frozen solid in the snow. I recognized him--a pickpocket, one of the many. Gavroche was with me, and he started crying. The boy had been his friend, I think. He made me promise never to freeze like that."

Silence fell between them. With a strangled laugh, Eponine clutched her book closer to her. "I'm sorry. That's not a very lighthearted story. Please forget I told it." She fled the room.

Javert stared after her, his mind a fog of half-thought things. Shaking his head once, slowly, he retreated to the study to read.

* * *

A/N: THIS IS YET ANOTHER PLEA FOR REVIEWS. STROKE MY EGO. STROKE IT DAMN YOU.

CelticHeiressFiona: Yes, Javert is indeed beginning to bend. It won't take too much more before he snaps.


	7. The Runaway Cart

A/N: Okay, guys, as a prelude to the ANGSTIEST chapter in the story, now presenting the MUSHIEST chapter in the story SO FAR. That's right, folks. It can only go downhill from here.

Disclaimer: Gavroche, Eponine and Javert are the sole property of Monsieur Hugo.

* * *

A week passed. Gavroche learned the alphabet and soon Javert was teaching him whole words. Eponine continued to keep the house flawlessly, turning down Javert's tentative offer to hire staff. She had worked as a maid in a rich woman's house when she was a young girl, she told him, and it gave her something to do. They had built a routine—each day they rose and ate together around the stove in the kitchen, then Eponine washed the dishes, tidied the bedrooms and prepared the next meal while Javert continued Gavroche's lessons. After that they took lunch and Eponine read in front of the fire. Most evenings Javert took a walk through the half-lit streets, always carrying the stick he had used to fend off Eponine's attackers. When he returned they ate dinner and went to bed.

Mable came by from time to time, and once even invited them to dinner, but Javert turned her down. He claimed that Eponine had a head-cold, and he couldn't leave her at home alone. This was the catalyst for much dramatic sobbing on Mable's part, and a bout of acting worthy of the greatest stage on Eponine's: "Oh, no, Papa—you go, please, I—" cough "I don't want to keep you from an evening out," stagger "Don't stay for my sake, Papa—" She then promptly pretended to faint, at which point Javert caught her and acted very worried while Gavroche escorted a weeping Mable to the door, saying "Don't you worry about our 'Ponine, she's got a good constitution. She'll be back on her feet in no time."

Several days later Javert woke to a strange smell. It was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. When he got downstairs, however, it was to find both of the children sitting around a small pine branch—the source of the pungent smell—, which they had stuck into a jar to keep upright. Under it was a thick package wrapped in brown paper.

"What is going on?" Javert inquired, raising one eyebrow.

When they saw him, both of the children grinned. "Merry Christmas!" Eponine cried, and Gavroche picked up the package and brought it to him.

"We picked it out ourselves," he said, and then showed Javert a small bag full of jacks. "Eponine got me these! She's going to teach me how to play!"

Eponine laughed. "And Gavroche gave me this necklace!" She gestured to a small blue bauble that now hung on a thin chain around her neck.

Javert was taken aback. "I... did not know Christmas was approaching. I have never really celebrated it except by going to the sermons."

"That's what we thought," said Gavroche with an exaggerated sigh. "Anyway, I got the branch this morning and we bought this present for you at the local market. The one down the street, you know?"

Javert nodded. He turned the package over and over in his hands before untying the string. He held the gift at arm's length, as though it would bite him, but as he pulled the paper away he saw that the gift was a book.

Eponine spoke up. "Don't feel too bad about not getting us presents—this is more for us than it is for you. I'm not very good at reading, and Gavroche is just learning. We want you to read this to us."

The policeman's eyes traced the title. _Grimm's Fairy Tales_. He could feel the smile trying to fight its way onto his face. Forcing it back, he looked down at the children and nodded. "Thank you for your gift Eponine, Gavroche. We can begin reading it after breakfast, if you like."

With a cry of delight, the children were on their feet and had thrown themselves at him. Gavroche's small arms held tight around his legs while Eponine's had snatched him about the waist. For a long moment Javert stood with his arms akimbo, staring down at the two children who clung to him. Stiff and straight, he endured their hug in silence. Seeming to know that this was the most they could hope for, Eponine and Gavroche disentangled themselves from the policeman and made their way to the kitchen, chattering all the while.

Once their breakfast was eaten they gathered in the sitting room and Javert flipped through the book for a moment in search of an interesting-looking tale.

"_The Six Swans._

"_Once a King was hunting in a great wood, and he pursued a wild animal so eagerly that none of his people could follow him. When evening came he stood still, and looking round him he found that he had lost his way; and seeking a path, he found none. Then all at once he saw an old woman with a nodding head coming up to him, and it was a witch."_

The children were enthralled, leaning forward and listening raptly. Although Javert's voice was relatively monotonous, it had a commanding air that brought a gravity to the story, which held their attention unquestioningly. As they neared the end of the tale, Gavroche had moved to the sofa to sit beside Javert and Eponine sat on the floor close by.

"_And the King and Queen lived many years with their six brothers in peace and joy."_

Javert finished the story and they sat for a while in silence.

"I feel sorry for the youngest brother," Gavroche said finally.

"Why?" Eponine asked.

"Because the princess never finished his shirt. He had to keep the swan's left wing."

Javert shrugged. "Maybe he liked having the wing of a swan."

Gavroche's brows drew together in confusion. "Why would he like having the wing of a swan instead of an arm?"

"Well," said Eponine, "He could use it to fan himself in the summer. And it had feathers, so that arm would never get cold in the winter."

The young urchin thought on this for a moment, before nodding decisively. "Still," he said, "I think the father should've killed that witch for what she did to his kids. Should've burned her at the stake."

"He didn't know she was the one who turned them into swans," Eponine explained.

"Still," Gavroche glowered at an imaginary witch. "She was an evil old bint."

"Language," Javert snapped. "But you are right. She ought to have been punished to the fullest extent of the law."

The Thenardiers rolled their eyes.

"Now," the policeman said, standing up and closing the book with a decisive snap, "Gavroche, you have studying to do. Shall we read another tale after dinner this evening?"

Eagerly agreeing, Gavroche and Eponine hurried off to their individual tasks--he to his studies, she to tend the house. Javert looked down at the book in his hands and allowed the corners of his lips to quirk upwards in a smile he had been holding back ever since the book had reached his hands. He set it on the table beside the sofa to await that night's tale and went to the window, where he watched the snow fall gently down to rest in the yard. The smile still ghosting across his face, he turned and made his way up the stairs to the study, where he oversaw Gavroche's lesson with a hint more patience than usual.

* * *

A/N: ROT YOUR TEETH ON THAT WHY DON'T YA. And you know what comes next—angst. Unfortunately (for you) I'll be on vacation for the next two days and unable to post. So many reviews! Where to begin?

CelticHeiressFiona: Thank you kindly for the stroke! Something's wrong with that sentence. Oh well.

Madame Marcia: I'm blown away! What a review! Almost a rave, and here I am with no handkerchief to fan myself with. If your other reviews are as splendid as that one, I'm a lucky writer indeed!

LesMisLoony: Don't worry; you were perfectly right to choose study over LoL (hey, there's something I never noticed…). I'm not offended, but gratified that you're still with me! I don't think I've ever had a reviewer this loyal!

Anonymous: I don't understand the purpose of the chapter titles either, so don't worry. As to the jobs, you have to understand—that would take effort. I'm not such a big fan of effort. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, anyway.

Princess Shlay: Ah, an angst connoisseur, eh? Worry not; they're on their way!

Orbitgirl: Thanks for the review! Hope to hear from you again!


	8. I Dreamed a Dream

A/N: Okay, kids, I'm back from my lovely vacation to a little cottage in the mountains where BEARS ATE ALL OUR FOOD but that's another story nevermind. Anyway, here it comes—the ANGSTIEST chapter in the piece so far. And who better to host it than our little poster boy for angst—Javert himself?

Disclaimer: Javert, Eponine and Gavroche belong to Monsieur Hugo.

* * *

That night, Javert had a nightmare. This was not a rare occurrence—Javert had seen many terrible things in his lifetime. Such sights are bound to shake the psyche, and he was no stranger to the darker side of dreams. This nightmare, however, was clear as glass and just as solid and real. A memory. It was something he hadn't thought about for a second when it happened, but now... 

He was back at the barricade, hands bound behind his back. A young man assigned to guard him leaned nervously against a barrel nearby and all around was an uneasy silence. The calm before the storm. Suddenly, shots rang out. Someone was shouting. A slender form was pulled over the top of the barricade and lifted down to the ground.

There, in the arms of a young man Javert only vaguely remembered, a young woman lay dying.

She was covered all over in dirt and blood, the latter of which was pooling steadily beneath her. One trembling hand rose to rest on the cheek of the man who held her, remaining there only a moment before it went slack and slid into the grime which lay thick on the ground. Her head slumped back, the ragged hat coming loose to let her unwashed hair tumble down and join it in the mud. The tear-streaked face was turned to the inspector, mouth slightly ajar, cheeks smeared with her own blood. Through the mists of memory, Eponine's eyes bored vacantly into Javert's.

Reeling back from the scene, Javert found himself on the other side of the barricade. He crouched behind a wall of sandbags, holding a borrowed musket firmly in one hand. His wrists still ached where they had been bound until Valjean had cut him loose. All was quiet once again, as it had been before Eponine's death, and by the gray light filtering between the buildings he could tell that it was either early morning or late evening. Through the fog that had settled in the street Javert saw a vague shape clamber over the barricade. Too far away to shoot. He would have to wait until it came closer.

Whoever it was seemed to be going from body to body, shoving something into a small bag. Ammunition, Javert guessed, and felt a cold pleasure in knowing that the revolutionaries were so low on supplies that they had to rob their own dead. None of the other soldiers had noticed the figure, and Javert felt no need to alert them. He could take care of this himself.

Slowly, the shape moved closer. The inspector leveled his musket, squinting along the barrel. Just a bit further...

He fired.

The revolutionary twisted in agony, clutching his stomach, and fell to his knees. Unwilling to give up, he shoved more ammunition into his satchel. He pulled himself back through the mist, away—Javert reloaded and fired again. This time the cry was audible; a small gasp, a strangled moan.

Javert lowered his musket and began to reload. By now the other soldiers had focused their attention on the wounded form of the scavenger, who now tossed his bag of ammunition over the barricade to his comrades. The man to Javert's left leveled his own musket at the retreating figure, taking careful aim. For a moment the mist seemed to clear, though his companions gave no indication that they noticed. The revolutionary came into sharp focus, and Javert wanted to shout, wanted to say no, no don't shoot—

But it was too late. The soldier fired. Gavroche froze and, without making another sound, slumped to the ground below. His wide eyes, so like his sister's, gazing serenely across the field of fallen men to meet Javert's.

The inspector shot up in bed, sweating. His hand shook slightly as he ran it through his hair. For a long moment he sat there, staring across the room at the opposite wall, before he rose. Moving silently, he pulled on his dressing gown and crossed the hall. The children's bedroom door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open a touch more. There they lay, Eponine curled up contentedly on her side, Gavroche snoring loudly and stretched out until his small form occupied more than half of the bed. Both alive. Both whole and fed and happy and alive.

Javert returned to his room, but sleep did not find him again that night.

* * *

A/N: And there you have it. The next one's pretty angsty too, and the one after that, and then it's back to hilarity. 

CelticHeiressFiona: Thanks! I hope you enjoyed the angst as much as the mush.

LesMisLoony: As punctual as ever! The Eponine's Illness scene was my desperate attempt to stuff some funny in there. I looked up your Christmas story, and it was really cute! I'm pretty sure you're my "frustratedstudent", as you've reviewed every chapter so far (and I'm grateful, intensely so).

Princess Shlay: Thanks for the review!

Luthien and Tari Oronar: Good to have you with us! I hope this chapter was developey—that's not really my strongest suit. Eponine… I have trouble with her character. She's so ethereal. And Gavroche is just so easy that I feel bad developing him.

Anonymous: Believe me, they'll get gooey and lovey eventually. And then DISASTER WILL STRIKE AND TEST THEIR LOVE but I talk too much. If the chapters were longer updates would not be as frequent. Because I'm a bum. Also exposition gives me CTS. And hives.

Chorus girl 24601: Nice to have you back! As for your sister, I blow her up. Boom.

Miranda-keene: An observant reviewer! NOOO! EVERY AUTHOR'S WORST NIGHTMARE! Quick, Ben, open up the bomb shelter! How much food do we have? Just canned beans? Damn! It'll have to do. Somebody dig a latrine in the back, there's no plumbing. Tracy, there's no time to bring the cows in! Come on, come on, she's coming! Everybody inside! Hurry–Oops. Too late. Um… You caught me chewing on the shoe of truth. I might have juggled the facts and dropped a few... Don't shoot?


	9. What Have I Done?

A/N: Another chapter, fairly short, not my favorite, but what the hell. School starts soon. Won't be able to update as often. Hope nobody minds.

Disclaimer: Javert, Eponine and Gavroche are the sole property of the late Victor Hugo.

* * *

The following morning Javert was silent at breakfast. This was not unusual, but instead of the stern face of constant disapproval he usually displayed he seemed vacant. Distracted. He did not give Gavroche his lessons, and was in a similar mood at lunch, and then at dinner. Gavroche chewed with his mouth open, leaned his chair back on two legs, even wiped his mouth on his sleeve, but Javert issued no words of reprimand.

"Hey," the waif snapped finally, and Eponine winced, fearing a dispute. "What's the matter with you? You look as though your mother's died!" Javert's head rose, and he stared at the young urchin. Gavroche did not retreat, however—instead he crossed his arms and glared at the inspector. "Not worth your time today, are we? Can't be bothered with us? And here I thought we were getting somewhere!"

Javert's eyes narrowed. "I hardly think so," he hissed, standing abruptly. "The thought is repulsive. Worthless _rats."_

He swept out of the room.

The Thenardier children stared after him, then at each other. What, they wondered, had that been about? Finally Eponine stood. "I'll go and talk with him." She left the room quietly, setting her dishes aside on her way out. Her dinner was half-finished.

Gavroche looked down at his own plate and glared fiercely at it. The waif pulled his feet up onto the chair and wrapped his arms around his legs. What did he care, he thought, if the inspector said he was a rat? What did it matter? Javert didn't count. He was just a dumb policeman and Gavroche didn't really like him anyway, didn't need him.

He pressed his forehead to his knees and refused to cry.

Eponine found Javert in the library, staring at the book of Grimm stories that sat closed upon the table. She came to stand behind him and took a deep breath. "What's wrong?"

Javert twitched. "Nothing is wrong, you insolent guttersnipe. Leave me be."

Biting her cheek to hold off the anger, Eponine replied in a clipped tone, "You are not yourself."

"How would you know?" Javert asked, whirling around to face her. "You do not know me. We are strangers, you and I. I care nothing for you! I care nothing for your brother!"

The sound of Eponine's palm meeting the side of the inspector's face reverberated about the room.

"How dare you," she hissed, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. "How dare you tell me such lies?"

"They are not lies," Javert said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"They are!" Eponine cried, "And you know it! Do you think that I have never been lied to? Do you think that I have never lied? I know a lie when I hear it! For weeks you have lived beneath the same roof as Gavroche and I, for weeks eaten the same food at the same table. You have taught my brother how to read better than I can, you have rescued me from death and disgrace! And now you claim to care nothing for us! I have thought many things of you, Monsieur, but not once until this moment have I thought you a liar!"

"You want the truth?" Javert's voice gained volume by the second. "The truth is that yes, I care! I should not, but somehow I do! I should not be capable of caring about one such as you, one such as your brother. My heart is stone, Eponine! It has been stone for years, and yet every time you smile or your brother laughs it feels just that much lighter. I do not understand it and it should not be!"

Eponine planted her feet. "Should not, should not, all of these should nots! Perhaps you should not care for us, but you do nonetheless! You have spent far too much time worrying about what you should do, should be, should have, should know, should say and far too little thinking of what will make you happy!"

"I DO NOT DESERVE IT!"

This silenced Eponine. She stared at him, confused, her eyes begging for an explanation. Finally, her voice a whisper, she spoke. "I... do not understand."

Javert picked up _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ and smoothed over its cover. "I have spent... many years as a policeman. I have put many men and women behind bars. Murderers, prostitutes... thieves. Many, many thieves. There was a man who stole a loaf of bread--Jean Valjean. You may know him by a different name, he had so many. He broke his parole, went on the run. Made an honest man of himself. Became the saving grace of hundreds of workers who, otherwise, would have been driven to become thieves like him. But I destroyed that. I ripped him from the home he had built, chased him all the way to Paris. There he raised a little girl and lived a quiet, charitable life." Javert took a deep breath and continued. "Revolution struck. I disguised myself and went behind enemy lines to deceive them, but Gavroche—little Gavroche, he found me out. I was bound to await a spare bullet, and while I waited I watched you die."

He heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up to see Eponine holding a hand to her chest, to the place where she had been shot not a month ago. He went on. "Valjean claimed the right to my life. He took me out into an alley and cut my bonds, firing into the air once for the men nearby to hear. He sent me away.

"When I reached the other side of the barricade, determined to throw off any debt I may have had, I took up arms against the revolutionaries. The only two shots that I fired before being called away by other duties wounded a young child collecting ammunition from fallen men. Had my shooting not alerted the other soldiers to his presence, the shot which killed Gavroche would never have been fired."

This time the gasp came from the door, and Javert whirled around. Standing on the threshold was Gavroche, his arms limp at his sides, his eyes wide and frightened.

Dropping the book, Javert extended one hand toward the boy—but the urchin shook his head once, taking a slow step backwards before turning to disappear at a run down the hall.

"Gavroche!" Eponine cried, running after her brother.

Javert stood alone in the library, the book of fairy tales forgotten on the floor.

* * *

A/N: Okay, first a general statement—yes, this fic is based heavily on the musical. This is not because I haven't read the book, but because the only volume I own is very old and there are a lot of parts of it missing. For this reason I have to call frequently on my memory of the performance my father and I attended at the 5th Avenue Theater. Eventually I'll get around to buying a new copy, but I like the one I have a lot—it has personality.

LesMisLoony: The musical shouldn't intrude too often, don't worry. I just can't find the barricade sequence. The checking bit is based on the fact that my father used to have chronic nightmares about my death or that of my brother. Every time he did he would come into the room we shared and sit on the floor between our beds for a while. See the above notice for answers about the basing of the fic.

Luthien and Tari Onar: Yes, Javert is the optimal choice as trauma-puppy, isn't he? Here's hoping to see you in future chapters!

Princess Shlay: I'm honored to receive your longest review so far, and hope to see more of its ilk in the future. I figured Javert could do with a bit more guilt, so I added general puppy-kicking to the stack of his offences. Eventually the straw is going to break the camel's back and he's going to revolt and KILL ME but it's fun while it lasts. See the above notice for answers about the basing of the fic.


	10. Bring Him Home

A/N: Another angst chapter, then a funny one, then a couple more angsty ones… I'm starting to question this fanfiction's genre.

Disclaimer: Eponine, Gavroche and Javert belong to Victor Hugo.

* * *

Eponine's startled cry brought Javert out of his reverie. He was downstairs in an instant to find the girl standing by an open door looking close to tears.

"He is gone! He is gone!"

For a moment Javert didn't know what she meant. Who? Who was gone? But then he looked down at the tiles beside the door where his tall boots and Eponine's white lace-ups stood, and saw the empty space between them. Gavroche's boots were gone. Upon further inspection Javert saw that the boy's jacket was missing as well.

"He took food from the kitchen and ran! We must find him! He will be hurt!"

Javert led Eponine to the sofa in the sitting room. "Stay here. I will find him. Do not follow me out, no matter what, do you understand?"

She nodded.

Shoving his boots onto his feet, Javert took up his jacket and his stick and ran from the house. He knew it was no use shouting for the boy—Gavroche had run to escape him, he would not return to his voice. Instead he searched in silence, scouring every snow-thick street, every icy alley until there was nowhere left to look. He went to the neighbors, none of whom had seen him, and Mable rounded up every man within ten-minutes' ride to help in the search. But it was no good. Gavroche may have been a stranger to these streets a few weeks ago, but he had had time to familiarize himself with them since then. He knew how not to be found, even in this place.

Javert returned home when the grey light of dawn began to soften the streets. One of the other men searching had insisted that he get some rest, and though he had protested the inspector knew it was a good idea. Upon coming through the door the first thing he saw was Eponine, slumped on the sofa beside the coals of last night's fire, sleeping.

Removing his coat, Javert draped it over the slumbering girl and reclined in one of the chairs occupying the far side of the sitting room. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew his eyes were drifting open to be greeted by the sight of a plate of eggs on the table beside him. Eponine was standing by the wall a few feet away, her face pale and her eyes dark.

"You didn't find him." It wasn't a question.

He answered anyway. "No."

She walked brusquely from the room and he heard the splashing of a pot being shoved into the water basin. Soon the air was filled with the sound of a brush against iron.

Javert spent the remainder of the day searching high and low for Gavroche, but he had looked everywhere already. As pointless as it was, he could not keep himself from patrolling the streets in the hope that the urchin would step out of some snow-laden alley Javert had overlooked, his hat askew and his cheeks ruddy, smiling at some private joke.

No such miracle occurred.

Javert returned home to find his dinner waiting on the table and Eponine sitting on the sofa.

"You did not find him." It was not a question.

He answered anyway. "No."

Night after night this became their routine. They took to sleeping in the sitting room, she on the sofa and he in his chair. Every evening when Javert came home she would say the same thing, _you did not find him_, and every evening he replied, _no._

Around midnight after the fourth day, when both Javert and Eponine were asleep, the door opened with just the slightest creak and then closed again. Two small black boots took their place between their larger counterparts and a pair of white lace-ups, and a grimy brown jacket joined a long black greatcoat. A pair of filthy stocking feet trod silently across the entrance hall and into the sitting room.

When Javert and Eponine woke the next morning, Gavroche was curled up at the foot of the sofa asleep. His hair was oily; his face caked in dirt and scratches, his clothes torn. Without a word Eponine sank to the floor in front of him and put her forehead to his. Waking slowly, Gavroche opened his eyes and blinked. Eponine smiled.

The young urchin stared at her, then at Javert who stood uncertainly across the room. The policeman seemed to fear that if he took a step too close, the boy would disappear again. He almost ran to bolt the door when Gavroche stood up and took a few purposeful steps away from the sofa. But instead of running away, Gavroche moved until he stood in front of Javert. Kneeling to meet the child's eyes, the inspector opened his mouth and was about to make some form of apology when he found himself suddenly caught up in a tight embrace. Although he made no move to return the hug—he was not sure he knew how—he did not stiffen or pull away. Over Gavroche's shoulder, he could see Eponine beaming.

* * *

A/N: Not as many reviews this time as I had hoped, but oh well. Here's hoping you haven't drowned or anything.

Luthien and Tari Onar: Yes, poor Gavroche. But NEVER FEAR he shall have his moment of glory. Maybe. Someday.

Princess Shlay: I guess I can let you slack off for a little while… but only a little while! Have a great time with your houseboat, and I look forward to hearing from you when you get back!


	11. A Heart Full of Love

A/N: Okay boys and girls, prepare for the funny! And ENJOY IT because next chapter we're off again to the dark pits of Les Miserables ANGST. It's what's for dinner.

Disclaimer: Eponine, Javert and Gavroche belong to Victor Hugo.

* * *

They did not speak of the four days during which Gavroche had been absent from the house. Instead, they simply returned to life as it had been. There were differences, though. Little changes in their mannerisms, the way they spoke to each other. Some of the deep sadness which had always hovered just behind Eponine's eyes was gone now, and there was a lightness in her step. Gavroche had changed little, but seemed inclined to follow Javert through the house when the older man would let him. As for the inspector, there was just the tiniest hint more gentleness in him. It was barely enough to notice, but the children spotted it at a glance. He no longer denied that living with him did not cause him constant agony, and the abandonment of that weight seemed to have left his shoulders less tense, his back less rigidly straight, and his eyes less cruel.

It was almost a week after the event before anything noteworthy occurred. Gavroche was reading aloud from a text about Chinese laborers, stopping whenever Javert indicated that he had misread something and going back over the passage to correct it. Eponine, for her part, was in the back garden checking on some roses she feared had been frozen by the snow which had thawed not a day since.

"_It is the responsib... _response... responsible..._ It is the responsibility of the oldest son to--"_

The ring of the doorbell made Javert wince. "Mable. Get the door, Gavroche."

The boy looked up at him in horror. "Me? No way! I got it last time! You get it." After a pause, he added, "You're not afraid of an old lady, are you?"

Javert frowned. "It is foolishness to suggest such a thing."

"Then why not get it yourself?"

Silence.

"Aha! You _are_ afraid of her!"

"I am not afraid," sniffed the inspector, "I simply do not enjoy her company."

"Well, someone's gotta get it and it's not gonna be me." Gavroche sat back in his chair and shoved the book close to his face. _"Rice is collected by both the men and the women of the fam... fam... _fam-a-lee_... family."_ After a long pause wherein Javert did not stand to get the door, Gavroche peeked over his book again. The inspector was staring at him with a raised brow. "Fine! Fine, I'll get the bloody door!"

"Language," Javert called after him as he stomped down the stairs.

Rearranging his face into a pleasant smile, Gavroche unlatched the door and pulled it open. The smile gave way immediately to a look of confusion when the person standing on the other side failed to be Mable.

"Who're you?" he asked rudely.

The young man who stood on the porch (dwarfed by a massive bouquet of flowers) gave a sweeping bow and said, "I am Henry Jacobson, son of Richard Jacobson who is husband to Sophia Jacobson who is a friend of Alexandra Applegate who is the niece of Mable Applegate, your neighbor. Mable, my father's wife's friend's aunt, has told me of your sister's exceptional beauty, and I am here to see for myself if the rumors are true!"

Gavroche stared at the man for a moment, then, turning away from the door, shouted, "Javert, there's a fop at the door who wants to see Eponine! Sap looks like he's bought some poor florist's entire month's supply of weeds!"

Upstairs in the study, Javert took a moment to process what Gavroche had said. Then, standing slowly, he left the room and made his way down the stairs. When he reached the door the young man shoved the entire bouquet into the little waif's arms to offer his hand gracefully to Javert.

Gavroche staggered and fell under the massive weight of the flowers.

The policeman stared down at the hand which had been extended to him. Without taking it, he said, "State your name and your business here."

Apparently the young man had never been received this way before. He looked confused for a moment, but then withdrew his hand and repeated what he had told Gavroche. "I am Henry Jacobson, son of Richard Jacobson who is husband to Sophia Jacobson who is a friend of Alexandra Applegate who is the niece of Mable Applegate, your neighbor."

Javert raised his eyebrow. "And your business?"

Looking flustered, Henry continued, "I am here to see your daughter, Eponine. Is she here?"

"What do you want with Eponine?" the inspector asked, his years of experience with law enforcement coming to his aid.

"I... To meet her, I suppose."

Javert opened his mouth to ask whether 'meet' was Henry's clever euphemism for 'seduce', but at that moment Eponine came in from the garden.

"What's all this ruckus? I thought I heard my name." She removed her coat to hang it up, but a hand caught it before she could.

"Allow me, mademoiselle," Henry said, obviously thinking that she would find his use of French alluring and exotic.

She couldn't help but notice that his accent was terrible. "Who are you?"

His bow was even more graceful this time than when Gavroche had answered the door. "I am Henry Jacobson, son of Rich—"

"Clod wants to give you some thistles and see if you'll pucker up," Gavroche said from the floor, and shoved the bouquet off of him.

Ignoring the young waif, Henry lowered himself onto one knee and reached for Eponine's hand. Too shocked to react, she did not move and he took this as an invitation. He kissed the delicate appendage, rather more passionately than was necessary. "My lady, the rumors of your beauty do not do you justice! Your hair is waves of silk upon a royal banner, your eyes are as bright as Polaris, the North Star! Never before have I seen one with such a countenance, such a natural grace as you! Won't you please do me the honor of allowing me to court you?"

Eponine squeaked and tried to tug her hand loose, to no avail. Henry held fast to it and continued to spout honeyed words and the occasional poorly-pronounced French noun. She cast a pleading glance in Javert's direction, and the inspector rolled up his sleeves and took hold of Henry by the back of his shirt. Yanking him to his feet, he half-dragged him to the door and tossed him out upon the steps before slamming the door shut.

"And stay out!" Gavroche shouted, pushing himself to his feet among the scattered roses and lilies. "What do you reckon we ought to do with these? No use for them after they've been yanked up."

Javert shrugged.

Eponine shrugged.

"Nothing for it, then," the urchin said with a sigh. "We'll have to burn them."

Each of the three took an armful of flowers and made their way over to the fireplace before tossing them in. Quite suddenly the entire house was filled with a heady floral aroma, along with the unmistakable stench of burning leaves.

"Drat," said Eponine, "Forgot they'd stink. I like flowers well enough in the ground, but it seems silly to leave them around the house and watch them die."

Javert did not answer. He had no opinion on flowers. Gavroche, on the other hand, spoke up. "I dunno about that, but I liked burning them. Sodding rat thought he could come in here and sweep you off your silly feet."

Eponine grinned. "If I were anything like a lady, it might have worked. Thank heaven I'm a guttersnipe!"

And they laughed—except for Javert, who only smiled—and had dinner and went to bed, the whole matter behind them.

However, it seemed that they had not seen the last of Henry Jacobson.

Javert was woken in the middle of the night to a voice shouting from outside, "Eponine! Fair Eponine, my love! Won't you come to your window and bless me with the sight of your golden face, your shining locks? Eponine, your father may not approve, but my love for you—"

The inspector yanked the window open and stuck his head outside, hair tousled, face livid. "You are wooing the wrong window, you utter twat!" He closed the window, but opened it again after a moment's thought and added, "And stay away from my house!" before slamming it resolutely shut.

The rest of the night went by as uneventfully as was proper, but the next night Javert woke to Gavroche's startled cry. He bolted to the children's room, grabbing the only weapon he could along the way—the stick he had used to fend off Eponine's attackers so many weeks ago. When he reached them, Gavroche and Eponine were standing against the back wall.

"There's someone at the window," Eponine hissed, and Javert stalked closer before throwing the curtains open.

Clinging to the drainpipe outside the window was Henry Jacobson, looking startled that the face which greeted him through the glass was not that of his beloved, but that of a snarling, furious Javert. With a sound somewhere between a yelp and a squeak, he tumbled into the foliage of the garden below.

"Oh," Eponine gasped, concerned in spite of herself, "I hope he's all right!" She hurried down the stairs and out the door. From the window Javert could hear words being exchanged briefly, then a resounding slap. He winced, having been subjected to Eponine's slaps before, and almost pitied the boy. But not quite.

Eponine stomped back inside, hair standing on end and eyes narrow. "He's fine." She flopped into bed, pulled the covers up and over her, and said nothing.

Gavroche looked hesitant to join her. "I... think I'll sleep in the big room tonight." He scurried off.

Javert returned to bed, leaving the stick within easy reaching distance. Just in case.

* * *

A/N: YES, YES, I'M A MASTER OF COMEDY.

Luthien and Tari Onar: I'm glad you haven't drowned, but I'm not sure what dialogue you mean…

Chasing Clouds: Oof, my pride takes a bruising blow. Ah, well, constructive criticism makes the world go round—plus you author-alerted me, and that makes me like you. Anyway, Javert quickly takes to the fatherly role because he's always had a basket of paternal instinct sitting around somewhere and he's only just found it. DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT IT'S A VALID EXCUSE. He was originally unconcerned about the afterlife, but when brought face-to-face with the eternal flame I doubt anyone could keep from wincing a bit. Which brings me to suicide and its damning capabilities. If you think I'm writing this with a Bible in my lap, you are sadly mistaken. I'm drawing on religion when and where it suits my purpose, no more. The mere thought has me shaking in my boots. So all in all, thanks for the review! It gave me a chance to think about the things I've written and measure it with your response. None of us like our reflections, but they are necessary to improve!

LesMisLoony: Late again! What am I going to do with you? Well, currently nothing, since I'm rushing down to the bakery in a few minutes to pick up breakfast. At any rate, I'm not sure which translation I have—it's red, if that helps. Javert is quite the teddy bear, yes. Thanks again for the reviews, and keep 'em coming (that's an order)!


	12. The First Attack

A/N: Coming to you live at six in the morning before my first day of senior year. Wish me luck.

Disclaimer: Eponine, Gavroche and Javert belong to Monsieur Hugo.

* * *

It was several days (and several disastrously failed wooing attempts) later when Gavroche heard a racket coming from the front lawn. Venturing out to investigate, he was greeted by the sight of Henry Jacobson being dragged up the front walk by another young man. Not waiting to discover the identity of this stranger, he shouted "Someone at the door for you, 'Ponine!" and bolted. He did not want any more contact than was necessary with the Jacobson boy, and Eponine had learned to hold her own against the enthusiastic suitor.

Eponine came down the stairs and opened the door, but upon seeing Henry she gave a startled cry and turned to run. She was stopped, however, by a quietly firm voice that took hold of her like a vice. "Please wait. He has something to say."

Hesitating, she turned slowly around.

"I'm very sorry for causing such a disturbance in and about your household and I regret it terribly and promise never to do it again so there." Henry crossed his arms petulantly, obviously expecting to be set free. No such thing occurred. The young man clutching his ear seemed woefully distracted from his charge.

Eponine had not heard a word the misguided suitor had said. Her gaze was locked upon the dark eyes of his captor which were, in turn, riveted on hers. She took brief notice of the rest of him, and though the rest was handsome to see she paid most attention to his face. His hair was bound back in the French fashion. He was trim but not scrawny, long-limbed but not awkward, and he wore a simple black suit with a maroon waistcoat.

He bent at the waist--just slightly, just enough—and she turned her knees to bob down in the most curious little curtsey. Then, dragging Henry Jacobson with him, he vanished down the front path and out into the street.

The door slammed shut and Eponine jumped.

"Well!" Gavroche crowed with a grin, "Didn't catch his face, but whoever he is, I like him!" He glanced up at his sister. "And so do you, from the look of it!"

"Don't be foolish, Gavroche." She drifted off up the stairs, seeming worlds away.

Javert came into the room then, wiping ink from his hands with a rag. "Was someone just here?"

"Nah," the urchin said, shrugging. "Thought I heard a cat in the compost."

The next day found Mable at the door, fanning herself more furiously than ever and babbling to a confused Javert.

"Oh, it's the strangest thing! He never leaves the house during the day, never, and yet yesterday I entered the library to ask him of his studies and he was gone! He returned not an hour later with young Henry Jacobson and wouldn't say a word! Always such a taciturn child. I just wish I knew where he had been! I asked Henry, of course, but he wouldn't utter a thing. Flushed to the ears when I asked, though, good heavens! I just don't know what to think!"

"Madame," Javert said, raising a hand to silence her, "Who is this person you speak of?"

The fan snapped shut and then open again. "Why, the young man I took in off the street! My little boy! I fear he has been into something terribly nefarious."

Javert's eyebrows shot up. "Who?"

"Have I never spoken of him to you? He does not socialize. He barely speaks but to answer my questions, and leaves the house only to take nighttime walks. I should not call him a little boy, he isn't, really. He came to me not a day before you arrived here, but I have come to love him dearly and he will not tell me what is going on!"

"I think," the policeman said calmly, directing Mable to the door, "That you must take this up with your... little boy. Only he can answer your questions, even if he is reluctant."

But Mable was weeping dramatically and any hopes Javert had had to expedite her vacation from the house disappeared in a cloud of overpowering lavender perfume.

Eponine moved from the top of the stairs, where she had listened to this exchange, to the library, staring out a window without seeing the garden below. Her thoughts, however, were not what one might expect of a girl who has just met a creature as handsome as the one she had come across that afternoon. She did not dream of poetry and picnics in the springtime, she did not harbor fantasies of dances and bouquets of roses. She had only one thought—What is _he_ doing here?

* * *

A/N: Shorter chapters from here on out, now that school's starting—and you thought they were short before!

LesMisLoony: I believe we can answer two questions with one quote, here! From "Eponine, An Apparition to Marius": "He raised his eyes and recognized the unfortunate child who had come to his room one morning, the elder of the Thenardier girls, Eponine; he now knew her name. Singular fact, she had become more wretched and more beautiful, two steps which seemed impossible. She had accomplished a double progress towards the light, and towards distress. She was barefooted and in rags, as on the day when she had so resolutely entered his room, only her rags were two months older; the holes were larger, the tatters dirtier. And with all this, she was beautiful."

CelticHeiressFiona: I'm not mad! A little put-out, maybe, but I'll get over it. Thanks for the review!

Chasing Clouds: Ah! Thank you, sir or ma'am, for your kindly appointing me Master of Comedy. I am forever in your debt!


	13. The Second Attack

A/N: Here it is again! Whizzin' by ya at the speed o' light! ZOOM!

Disclaimer: Eponine, Javert and Gavroche belong to Victor Hugo.

* * *

That night Eponine sat outside upon the bench that overlooked the road, staring at the buildings across the way. For almost an hour all was silent, then she heard footsteps. Closer and closer they came until a sillhouette blocked the streetlight and those dark eyes were boring into her.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," she replied.

Standing, she unlatched the gate and invited him in. With a brief nod he came to sit beside her on the bench. For some time they did not speak, then he murmured, "You died."

She nodded. "You do not seem terribly surprised."

"I died as well."

"Ah."

And they relapsed into silence.

"I don't suppose... that you have seen others?"

"No. I have not. I have not seen any who fell, aside from you and those I share this house with."

"And who would that be?"

"My younger brother Gavroche, and our caretaker Javert."

His nostrils flared. "Javert! That police dog? How is it you come to be under his charge?"

"We are to redeem him. Though I think he may already be redeemed."

The young revolutionary shrugged. "Say what you like, but I have my doubts."

"Keep them. It does not matter what you think. Only tell me, what are you doing here?"

"They told me that a dear friend of mine had lost himself to Purgatory. I said I would rather Purgatory with my friend than Heaven without, and they returned us both to the living plane. I am meant to find him. I have been scouring the city—and he is somewhere in this city—every night, for he frequented the streets more often after dark. He said the world came alive then, though I think he simply knew he could more easily get away with being drunk and disorderly under cover of night."

"And he evades you."

"Yes."

Another moment passed, and he stood. "Please tell me if you see him. I will not disturb your life here further."

"Wait."

He paused.

"Did Marius survive the barricade?"

Enjolras did not answer immediately, but walked the remaining distance to the gate. As he opened it, he said, "I saw him fall."

And then he was gone.

* * *

A/N: HAHAHAHAHA TAKE THAT.

CelticHeiressFiona: Rotten luck with that guess. Better fortune for next time!

Chasing Clouds: HAH. Insipid my ass. What do you take me for?

Chorus girl 24601: Whooee. That's quite the collection of reviews you've left me! My numbers are going through the roof! Thanks!

AWishyWashyLesMizFan: Thanks for the review, I'll keep those chapters coming!

LesMisLoony: Sorry to disappoint. Enjolras is more well-known, and I wanted to keep everybody on the same page.

BET YOU CAN'T GUESS WHAT FRIEND HE'S TALKING ABOUT. Actually, I bet you can.


	14. Look Down

A/N: This might be a little shaky, I don't know. I only wrote it yesterday, so it might not stand up to much scrutiny. Be nice.

Disclaimer: Eponine, Gavroche and Javert belong to Monsieur Hugo.

* * *

Early the next morning Eponine shepherded Gavroche and Javert out the front door, following close behind them.

"What," Javert asked irritably, "Is this all about?"

With a brilliant smile, she ushered them into a waiting carriage and said, "I think a day at the market will do us all good! We have been sitting around the house for far too long, we need fresh air and busy streets."

Gavroche bounced excitedly in his seat while Javert—never deigning to slump, but seeming as though he would like to—sniffed haughtily and looked out the window. Alleys and side-roads flashed past them, people waved, the streets teemed with life. By and by the policeman began to realize that this was not the normal route to the middle-class market in which they had grown accustomed to shopping.

"Where, exactly, are we going?" he asked tentatively, raising an eyebrow as though he thought he might not like to know.

Eponine bit her lip. "I have been... homesick? Is that the proper term? No, I think not--more, I have been uncomfortable. It has been some time since I have seen streets like those I grew up on, and while the change has been nice, the past begins to seem less... real. We needn't stay long, but I wish to see the slum market here. Please, Javert, just for a short time?"

When the inspector still looked uncertain, Gavroche butted in. "Come on, Jav', it's not so bad! The slum market here's fair tame."

He was suddenly fixed with a stern pair of eyes. Javert's tone was clipped—"You have come unaccompanied to the slum market?"

"Might've," the gamin muttered, "Just a bit. 'Sides, I've managed worse."

The policeman dropped the subject, but the corner of his mouth was twisted down in such a way that Gavroche was certain he'd hear more of it later.

They arrived without incident at the slum market, and climbed out of the carriage as discreetly as possible. Unfortunately, in her haste to get out of the house and distract herself, Eponine had forgotten that they would stand out in their clean, pressed clothes. Eyes followed them through the streets, but Javert's gaze repelled most who would have dared pick their pockets. Still, Eponine kept a firm hold of her purse.

Javert, for his part, was on hyper-alert. His ears were pricked for whispers of conspiracy, his fist tight around the slim cane he carried when it would be improper to bring his stick. He especially watched the hands of those they passed closest to, prepared at the slightest suspicious twitch to leap into action. For the most part, however, his precautions seemed unnecessary—while the vendors and patrons stared and murmured at and about these well-dressed passersby, it was all harmless curiosity and they kept a cautious distance.

An old, haggard-looking woman hobbled up to Eponine. "Hello, dearie, a rose for your hair?" She held up a basket containing a few wilted roses, and Eponine—although she had a beautiful bush of well-tended roses growing just behind the house—took one and placed it in her carefully pinned hair. She set in the woman's hand slightly more than was the price of the flower, and moved on.

Once this initial advance had been made, many others lost their leeriness and approached the trio. Eponine bought one of almost everything that was offered, although they needed little of it, while Javert looked on in all his stern menace. Gavroche was pocketing a loaf of good bread Eponine had purchased for his lunch when he caught sight of a small figure disappearing down an alley.

Glancing up at Javert and deeming him sufficiently preoccupied, Gavroche slipped out of the crowd with all the stealth accredited to his breed and followed the little form. He had not been trailing it three streets when it ducked into a small nook that had once been a door, but was now boarded up. Several boards were loose, and once pushed aside they revealed a little entrance just large enough for a child.

For a moment the urchin stood outside the hollow, weighing his curiosity against his common sense. Curiosity won out, however—as he knew it would—and he slid soundlessly through the gap to enter what had, perhaps, been a grocer's. The counters were barren, the floorboards broken, and the ceiling slumping in the middle like a mule that has borne too many loads. Gavroche could hear rats in the walls and termites in the wood and all manner of creatures down below.

That none of this bothered him or struck him as the slightest bit strange speaks multitudes about his life preceding his death.

From behind one of the counters peeked a small, grubby face. Whether it belonged to a boy or a girl Gavroche could not tell, but whichever it was the shriek it made was piercing. _"Edmund!"_

No sooner had the cry tumbled from the child's mouth than Gavroche felt someone approaching from the side. He ducked, rolling toward the movement and tripping up his attacker, who tumbled to the floor and righted himself with a twist. This, Gavroche could assume, was Edmund. He looked to be just a few years Gavroche's junior, and his hair might have been blond once, but had been so caked with dirt that it was a murky gray color. Large green eyes, narrowed in aggression, stared out of a scratched and muddy face above a set of pitiful rags that served for shift and breeches. The boy wore no coat, no hat and no shoes.

"Who're you?" Edmund snapped, pacing until he was between the androgynous child who had sounded the alarm and Gavroche. "What're you doing here?"

The will-o-the-wisp boy grinned merrily, but remained in a ready crouch. "Gavroche's my name. Just taking a peek about. Saw you duck out of the market, thought I'd drop in."

Edmund's brows drew together. "You're one of the well-to-do bits what came by the shops today. I saw you with that skirt and her pet wolf. You sure ain't from around here, not with those rich rags." He paced a little closer, and Gavroche paced a little back and to the side, never losing his mischievous smile.

"Well spotted. We're from up and down a few avenues, bit of a way from here." He slid a foot to the left, and Edmund lowered one knee a fraction.

"You move like a street kid. What kinda cushion-kitten are you?"

Gavroche laughed. "Not a one at all! I just dress up nice. Put a dog in a dress, it still has teeth!"

Finally, Edmund straightened from his crouch. Gavroche followed suit, then gave a playful little bow. "Nice place you got! Bet it leaks, though."

"Only in the winter."

Leaning a little to the right, Gavroche caught another look at the tiny creature peeking out from behind the counter. "And who's your friend back there?"

Edmund turned halfway round and gestured for the child to come out. It was now clear that she was female, with a shock of curly black hair and wire-lashed brown eyes. Her skin was slightly darker than her protector's, and Gavroche gathered without being told that she was gypsies' get.

"What's your name?" asked the gamin, lowering himself onto one knee to speak with the girl.

She squeaked, and hid behind the older boy.

"She don't talk much," Edmund informed him. "We don't know what name her folks gave her, but we call her Secret, 'cause she won't tell us nothing."

"Quiet type, huh?" Gavroche said, and appeared to think. "Well, Secret, you look like you could use a bite. How about this?" He pulled from his pocket the loaf of bread that Eponine had bought in the market and held it out to the girl.

Both of the children's eyes widened, but neither moved. Secret looked from the bread to Gavroche, and then up at Edmund with a nervous and uncertain expression. Slowly, Edmund nodded.

She crept forward a bit at a time, making her way across the floor step-by-step. Finally, she reached Gavroche and tentatively took the loaf from him. With a muttered "Thank you," she darted back to hide behind Edmund.

Someone knocked a complex pattern on the planks of the shop's rear, and the boy moved off to push away the boards. In clambered four boys, all younger than Edmund but older than Secret, and they gazed with alarm at the stranger in their midst.

"Gavroche," said Edmund solemnly, "These're my mates. This here's George, Mark, Paul and Peter. Boys, this's Gavroche, rich by luck and rat by nature."

George was the tallest of the four, though he still fell a few inches short of Gavroche, and had a pointed face and buckteeth. Mark had red hair and too many freckles, along with a pair of crossed eyes. Paul and Peter were twins, both with brown hair that wouldn't stay at all under their hats and noses that looked to be often wrinkled with amusement.

Giving another bow for the benefit of the newcomers, Gavroche crowed, "Hello, boys, pleasure to meet you! Ain't seen more charming gamin in all my years!"

George frowned. "What's gamin? I ain't never heard that word before."

Gavroche blinked. He was used to his mouth translating for him, but apparently this word had come through in his native tongue. "Gamin's French. Means street rat."

Mark sat down on one of the counters and swung his legs beneath him. "Well, what're you runnin' around talkin' French for?"

Grinning, the young waif doffed his hat and gave a little spin. "Why, my good monsieurs! I myself was a gamin of the fine French streets not a year ago!"

Now all four of the boys looked intrigued. They came to sit around him in a sort of circle, eyes full of questions—except for Edmund, who leaned against the rear wall looking disinterested. Peter was first to the trigger. "What's it like in France?"

"Well, boys," Gavroche said conspiratorially, "I'll tell you. I was just a little creature when I took to the streets..."

And he told them. He told them of France, of the students of the ABC, of the barricades. They leaned forward as he spoke of shots ringing out, of screams and blood and fallen men. He fabricated what he had to, told them how Eponine had hidden in the thick of the bodies, told them how he had been wounded while collecting bullets and all had thought him dead, but a police officer had found him breathing and taken mercy on him. How the same officer had found his sister and whisked them away to England so that they would not be recognized and arrested, how he pretended to be their father. He could see no harm in telling them--the police would not listen to a band of street rats, no one would investigate.

The children ate up the story more quickly than hot porridge on a cold winter's day, and soon Gavroche had caught up with himself and ended with a flourish, saying, "So here we find ourselves! Me a wanted Frenchman, and you all knowing now! I suppose I shall have to give you my coat for your silence, my hat for your trust, and my boots for your loyalty." He removed all three and placed them on the floor, then grinned around at the urchins. He met the eyes of Edmund, who gave a slow smile.

Gavroche continued. "I think I'll see you all again! Long live Edmund, the gamin of England! Long live his tricky brood!" And with that, he danced shoeless, coatless and hatless into the street and away.

* * *

A/N: Yup. Urchin-pile!

LesMisLoony: Yeah, they call him Apollo for a reason.

CelticHeiressFiona: As long as you know the book, or were paying really close attention during the musical, you know who the mystery friend is. You just have to SEARCH your MIND.

Chasing Clouds: It's okay; I wrote that with the intention of making people think it was Marius. Not your fault. And thanks for the fave! Love you!

GreenTeaandHoney: I'm not sure what you mean, but thanks for the review!


	15. Beggars at the Feast

A/N: YET ANOTHER CHAPTER from your diligent author. Man, this is getting hard to keep up with. I'm going to have to wrap it up, probably within twenty chapters.

Disclaimer: Gavroche, Javert and Eponine belong to Monsieur Hugo.

* * *

Upon Gavroche's return Javert fumed and Eponine scolded. No matter how they questioned him, however, he refused to tell either one of them what he had been doing during the long interval when he had been missing that had demanded he divest himself of hat, boots and coat. Whenever they asked, he just smiled cheerfully and shrugged.

Imagine, then, Eponine's surprise upon receiving unexpected guests while she cooked dinner.

She had just been taking a stew off of the boil when a small hand snatched a slice of cheese from the plate on the counter. "Gavroche, what have I told you about spoiling your—"

But it was not Gavroche. When Eponine turned around to chastise her younger brother, she was instead greeted by the sight of six wide sets of eyes staring out of six grubby faces. The redhead sniffed loudly, and the gangly one licked the last crumbs of cheese from his fingers.

They spent an awkward moment staring at one another, each wondering who would have to make the first move, until Eponine finally took the plate of cheese from the counter and held it out for them. With that, the ice was broken and an instant later the plate was empty and all six of them were smiling beautifully up at her.

"Now," she said, raising an eyebrow in her guardian's signature expression, "I don't suppose one of you can tell me what you fine gentlemen are doing in my kitchen?"

"Followed your cart up from the market," said the green-eyed boy who held the little girl. "Gavroche's a new friend of ours. Thought we'd drop by for a bite, if it's not too much trouble."

"Of course, it's no trouble at all. I just hope I have stew enough to go around."

"We eat real light, Miss, promise," said one of the twins.

"Yeah, real light," piped the other.

Eponine cast a dubious glance at the now-barren cheese plate, but shrugged. "I can always make some tarts after dinner—if you'll all help, that is."

Suddenly she had six very eager volunteers.

"All right, then, all right!" she said, laughing as they clamored excitedly. "Just let me call the boys to greet you. Gavroche! Javert! We have guests, mind your manners!"

Gavroche bounded down the stairs, coming to a graceful stop just in front of the little troop. "Fancy seeing you all again so soon! Eponine hasn't drafted you into culinary service, I hope? She's positively dastardly about the kitchen. Won't let an honest taster do his noble work!"

It was then that Javert stepped into the room, and it quieted suddenly. His cold eyes stared down at the little clutch of frightened-looking urchins (except for Edmund, who looked brutally defiant), taking in their muddy feet (or, in George's case, shiny boots), tattered shirts (save Secret, who was wrapped in a green jacket with gold braid as though it were a blanket), and dirty hair (Paul's was hidden beneath a tidy felt hat). His lips tightened fractionally, twisting down into a scowl. Raising his eyes to look at Gavroche and Eponine, he saw their hopeful expressions and gave an inward sigh.

"Make sure they wash before the meal."

Once everyone was clean, Gavroche introduced each by name to Javert and Eponine. Finally, laughing and talking, the seven younger children carried plates and silverware to the table while Eponine juggled the stew and a plate of freshly-sliced cheese. They were followed by Javert, who was keeping a weather eye on the hands of the rag-tag visitors.

They sat down, said a quick grace and began eating. While Eponine maintained her moderately tidy table manners with admirable restraint, the other children showed none. Gavroche included, they dug in with such gusto that Javert was forced to duck several flying chunks of potato. Eponine avoided wayward bits of food with a casual air that implied plenty of experience in this arena, but Javert had no such luck. He ended up with several onion slices and a bit of carrot decorating his sleeves, and quickly took on the attitude of a slighted cat.

Eponine took note of Edmund, who seemed to be watching Secret very carefully. He did not start eating until after she had taken her first bite, and her bowl had not been empty for half a second before he had snatched it away to refill it and place it again before her. While he didn't show the same sort of obsessive concern for the other boys, he still made certain that they all had enough to eat and settled any disputes they may have had over food with nothing but a glance and a firm word. He was certainly the older-brother type, no doubt about that.

When they finished their supper, they took their dishes back to the counter and began work on the tarts. Eponine decided that she and Mark would mix the dough, George and Gavroche would peel and slice the fruit, and the twins would combine the slices with a syrup-like concoction she had made earlier. Meanwhile, Edmund and Secret rolled out the dough and cut it into circles. Once this was done, they all helped to fold the fruity mess into the little crusts and put the whole business in the oven to bake.

They began to tidy up the kitchen, putting things back to rights and wiping off the countertops. When this was almost done, the urchins gathered around the stove to sniff at the wondrous aromas wafting from the ventilation slots.

Secret, thinking to assist in the remaining cleanup, reached onto the counter nearby to grab the large bag of flour Eponine had taken from the cupboard. Unfortunately, the bag had not been closed since its use, and as she tugged it toward her it tumbled from the counter and hit the floor with a burst of white. Flour was everywhere, clouds of it exploding upward to cover the waifs head-to-toe.

Javert chose that moment to walk in, stopping in his tracks at the sight of the eight startled-looking children. Their hair, clothes and faces were all coated in a thick dusting of white, giving them the countenance of rather pathetic and alarmed ghosts.

The inspector twitched, his face convulsing in an extremely perplexing, unsettling way. He sank to the floor and let out a strangled sort of cough.

The children stared at him in confusion and mild concern for a moment before realizing that the unusual sound he had made was a stifled laugh. Grins spread across their faces, even that of the solemn Edward, and they began to roar with unfettered hilarity. Secret gave a pretty, gleeful laugh of the kind that only little girls are capable of and, running up to Javert, threw her arms around his neck and held on. It was not long before the rest of them followed—in spite of the fearful expression on the policeman's face—and soon he vanished behind a wall of floury urchins.

When they finally released him, Javert was covered all over in large splotches of flour where they'd touched his clothes. They ate the tarts together, then Eponine, Javert and Gavroche sent their guests off with their pockets full of bread and cheese and their ears full of orders to return. For the rest of the evening, Javert made no attempt to change his garments or wipe the small, unmistakable smile from his face.

* * *

A/N: AND YET AGAIN I USE THE HUG. Now, I know some of you are thinking, "Hey, she keeps doing that. Is she running out of ideas?" and unto you I say, "No! I am showing through hugs the way he changes! Each time he is hugged he's a little more comfortable with it." There may be some critics among you who still persist, thinking, "Minx, Baby, don't make excuses. We all know you're just clutching at straws here." And unto you I say, "Damn your perceptivity."

CelticHeiressFiona: Secret was my desperate attempt to invent something cuter than Gavroche. Have I succeeded?

LesMisLoony: Benevolence is a smile on a cloudy day! Hooray! Ack, I have to read Faust for drama. The devil makes me smile, but it's really confusing.

GreenTeaandHoney: I am indeed the cononeer! Thanks for the review!

Princess Shlay: Gavroche essentially got some time to think about what had happened, realized that Javert was just doing what he thought was right and that he'd changed, and came home. His hug was his way of telling Javert that he forgave him. Secret seems to be a fairly popular character, doesn't she? Also, I now have an image in my head of me trying to stuff Montparnasse back into my pocket after Enjolras escaped.


	16. Red and Black

A/N: Okay, first of all… God, I'm sorry. School took me by storm. I won't go into it because I hate hearing excuses from fanfic authors, and I know you probably feel the same way. I wish this chapter could be longer, but it isn't. Again, I apologize.

Disclaimer: As I have stated, they aren't mine. They're his. And he can keep them.

* * *

"Javert? Gavroche? I'm going out!" Eponine called, alerting her brother and their surrogate father to her intentions.

"Wait!" the former called, skidding out into the entrance hall with a loaf of bread in his hands. "If you're going to the market, will you take this along? I told you where Edmund and his lot live, right? 'Round the barber's shop corner and down along to the boarded-up grocer's?"

Smiling, Eponine took the loaf. "I remember. Yes, I'll take it to them." She turned to shout up the stairs. "Javert, is there anything you need?"

"How could there be?" he called back, "You go shopping every day! I'll never understand how you can find so many things to buy for just three people."

Laughing, Eponine pulled her hat down over her hair and slipped out the door. Just a few minutes later she stepped out of the coach and into the brusque late-winter air. Straightening her skirts, she turned and marched off through the market. She bought a bit of everything, never spending less in one place than she did in another, and gave a coin to each of the children clustered about her skirt. These same children had given her a nickname which--she was embarrassed to hear--had stuck rather permanently. When they saw her many of the stall owners hailed her by it.

"Lady Charity! Any need for a good trout today? We've got a lovely catch in fresh!"

"Over here, Lady Charity! This flour's the best you'll find in any market, I'd stake my reputation on it!"

"Lady Charity!"

"Lady Charity!"

Blushing, she examined their wares and paid them handsomely for what she wanted, what she needed, and what bore her no interest at all.

By and by she made it to the barber's shop and rounded the bend. By that time her arms were full of groceries and she could only barely see the street to either side, much less anything directly in front of her. As such, it can be assumed that the following collision was entirely her fault.

Eponine slammed hard into the chest of a man hurrying in the opposite direction, and was bowled over backwards. Tumbling petticoat-over-hat, she came to rest lying on her back and staring up at the sky between the overhanging buildings. It was blue, she noted. Hardly a cloud in it. Odd for London, even more so for London in winter. It probably meant an early spring. She would have to uncover the azaleas soon, and maybe plant some tomatoes.

Just as she was wondering where she might find a decent bag of tulip bulbs, a blinking face came into view and blocked the lovely blue vista she had been examining. "Hello," it said.

"Hello," she replied.

Silence followed, during which both participants in Eponine's rather magnificent turn of acrobatics wondered if the other would speak up, and if so, what would they say?

Finally, Eponine spoke. "Would you mind terribly helping me up?"

"Not at all." He offered his hand.

"Thank you." She took it, and he pulled her to her feet.

Glancing around, he raised an eyebrow. "It looks as though a wagon containing an army's rations has had a rather catastrophic accident."

She had to agree. "It does, rather."

Bit by bit, they gathered together all of the groceries she had dropped. Three different kinds of lettuce, a herring each from five separate stalls, sugar, flour, etcetera. Finally, once the parcels were gathered around her in a neat pile, Eponine turned to thank him. No sooner had she opened her mouth, however, than she was rendered mute. She stared. Found her voice. Screamed.

For his own part, the cause of her fall was very confused. He gazed blankly at the screaming woman, turned to see if some terrible monster had snuck up behind him, found none, examined the woman herself to see if she was being bitten by anything, found nothing, and resigned himself to waiting for her to cease her shrieks.

"You!"

This was a development, he thought, and must be acknowledged as such. "Me?"

"You!"

"Yes, I believe we have established that I am, in fact, me."

After a moment's pause, she repeated herself. "You!"

"While I was at first intrigued by the meaning behind this word, I have now begun to think that I will never learn it. Please elaborate."

Still half-speechless, Eponine could only think to say one other word. "Enjolras."

Quite suddenly Grantaire's expression changed. His eyes widened, his arms tensed. He grabbed her by the shoulders and jerked her face close to his. "How do you know that name? What have you heard of Enjolras? Where is he? Has he spoken to you?"

Struggling, Eponine tugged at his hands. "Please, sir, release me and I will answer all of your questions!"

He did not get the chance to oblige her. A stone thudded against the back of his head and, after a moment of gazing confusedly at Eponine, he slumped against her and sent her tumbling to the cobblestones once again.

Edmund dragged Grantaire's limp form off of her and extended his hand to help her up. "Gotta watch out for thugs like that'n, Lady Charity."

"While I thank you for your assistance, Edmund, this is not a thug. He's an old... friend. From the Resistance. He was just a bit startled to know... that I'm alive. That's all. I will add that if I ever hear you using that dreadful nickname again I will personally see you skinned."

Staring down at the unconscious revolutionary the urchin shrugged. "Guess there's nothing to do but drag him back to the den and wait 'til he wakes up, then. I'll send the boys back for your groceries."

And with that no-nonsense assessment, the two of them shouldered the much heavier Grantaire and began to make their way to Edmund's home.

* * *

A/N: And yet again, I'm sorry. The next update will probably be a long time coming, too. Sorry, sorry.

LesMisLoony: I'M SO SORRY YOU STUCK WITH ME FROM THE GETGO AND I ABANDONED YOU AND CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE MEEE. I love you.

CelticHeiressFiona: Thanks for the compliment! I hope I won't disappoint you in the future!

GreenTeaandHoney: Thank you very much! Please continue reading!

Chorus girl 24601: Yeah, the last one was pretty mushy. Sorry about that. Hopefully this one was less so!

Eclectic Me: Clever Gavroche, indeed! I hope I haven't bored you to tears with this waiting.

Princess Shlay: Thank you for your review, and I apologize again for the wait.

Anonymous: How's that for on-the-ball? You guessed the guy! And here's my gift to you! Grantaire galore.

Cinekimi: Thanks! I'm glad to have you!

Whisper of the Winds: I really appreciate your input. Thanks for the review!

Torrentialrainsofsin: I'll do my best!

Maddiecake: Too bad about Secret. Ah, well. I tried. And touching/cute sort of was the aim. Thanks for reviewing!


	17. Drink With Me

A/N: I'm sorry. I really am. But it's going to happen again. In other news, I've been accepted to Western Washington University.

SPECIAL NOTICE: This chapter just sort of jumped out. I didn't know it was coming. That is all.

* * *

_Well, _thought Eponine,_ What do we have here?_

She stared down at the tousled body of Grantaire.

_We have one unconscious revolutionary._

While she pondered this, Edmund gathered his forces to fetch her groceries. She and the slumbering man were left to each other's company.

As she stared, Grantaire began to blink sleepily. He sat up and glanced about, his gaze finally alighting on Eponine. "Hello," he muttered, his speech slightly slurred, "Who're you?"

"My name is Eponine," she replied.

He groaned. "Must've had too much t'drink. Did we...?"

Any other woman would have blushed and fluttered. Not Eponine--she rolled her eyes. "No, you haven't been drinking, and no, you did not compromise my virtue. You were felled by a rock."

Grantaire squinted at her. Cocked his head. Raised a hand to rub at the back of his scalp, where a bump was rising. Finally, he leaped to his feet. "Enjolras!"

_If we aren't careful,_ Eponine mused, _That name will become a commonplace expletive._ "Yes," she said, "Enjolras."

Grantaire looked like he wanted to grab her again and shake some answers out of her, but remembered the rock and thought better of it. "What do you know of Enjolras?"

"He's looking for you. He's been sleeping all day and wandering the streets at night in search of you. Apparently, you are nocturnal."

Grantaire stared confusedly at her for a moment, then let out a barking laugh.

"I fail to see the humor in the situation," she snapped, still a bit sore from her multiple tumbles to the cobblestones.

"I..." he laughed again, and shook his head. "I have been out all day and in all night! I figured my best chances of finding him were in the sunlit hours. Where is he living?"

"On the other side of my hedge." Before she could elaborate, an army of six came marching into the old grocer's. Their arms full of parcels, Edmund and his cohorts filed past them and laid down their loads. Secret shuffled up to Eponine and thrust her arms upward, opening and closing her hands in the universal plea to be held. The older girl obliged, lifting the tiny creature and settling her in the crook of her elbow.

Grantaire blinked. "A bit young to have been so productive, aren't you?"

Eponine rolled her eyes skyward and Grantaire suddenly found himself the target of five threatening stares.

Edmund paced forward. "I knocked you once, I can do it again. You ever imply Miss Eponine's anythin' less than the Angel o' Purity an' you'll have a hole in your skull where that lump is now."

Grantaire just had time to wonder why he felt so intimidated by this pint-sized pup before Eponine piped up once again.

"You," She pointed to Grantaire. "They're not mine. And you," she directed her accusing finger at Edmund. "I can argue my own chastity."

"Fair enough," the boy replied with a shrug, "But I'll still pop 'im one if 'e does it again."

Ten minutes and three more misunderstandings later, Eponine and Grantaire were bouncing along the poorly maintained street in the direction of home.

"Out of curiosity," Eponine ventured, "Where have you been staying these past months?"

Grantaire shrugged. "Here and there. Anywhere that'd take me, really. Out of curiosity, how did you meet Enjolras?"

Eponine gave a little shrug of her own. "I often ran errands for the ABC when I was short a coin or two." _Which was always,_ her mind intoned. She politely asked it to shut up.

Grantaire was staring again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

"What?" she asked nervously.

"You... ABC? France?"

"Er... yes?"

"Barricade?"

"So it would seem."

"But... how?"

"The same as you, I expect."

"I..._damn_."

"Agreed."

They stared at each other for another long moment before the carriage shuddered to a halt.

"Here we are!" Eponine chirped, a little more cheerfully than was really necessary.

They clambered out onto the street and Eponine paid the driver. When she turned it was to see Grantaire shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"What's the matter?"

"What if he isn't happy to see me?"

Eponine raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't he be?"

"What if he's _angry?"_

"Have you done something to warrant his irritation?"

"... Not recently..."

"Good. Then you've got nothing to worry about."

"... Come with me?"

She blinked. Eponine was fast coming to terms with the fact that this would not be as easy as she had assumed. On one hand, she was feeling increasingly awkward in his presence. They shared so much, and yet... they really had nothing in common. On the other hand, this fully-grown man was shaking in his boots, and she felt a surge of compassion for him. Finally, with a long-suffering sigh, she marched past him and up the walk to Mable's house.

Once Grantaire had caught up with her, she knocked on the door. It swung open, and Mable stood on the other side looking as jovial as ever.

"Well, if it isn't my darling Eponine!" she crowed, "How lovely to see you! And who is this handsome devil with you?" Before Eponine could answer the matronly woman had peered to the left and right of them and laughed merrily. "No chaperone? The scandal! Come in, both of you, and sit down. Tea?"

"Begging your pardon Miss Mable," Eponine said, a touch hastily, "But we were hoping to speak with Enjolras."

Her smile never wavering, Mable waved them down a long corridor. "Second door on the right. He's probably sleeping--the poor dear. Just give him a shake and he'll come around."

Mable wandered off, chuckling happily about the oddities of youth.

Eponine and Grantaire came to the door in a matter of seconds, and it swung open at the slightest touch of Eponine's hand. The light from the hall fell gently across a tall figure draped sideways over a red bedspread. Enjolras was handsome in the half-light, his blond curls unbound and falling precariously across his statuesque face.

Eponine looked over her shoulder to offer some sort of encouragement to Grantaire, but realized suddenly that he needed none. His path was set. He stepped past her as though she were just more air, and moved silently into the room. He knelt by the bed and, raising one hand, pressed the backs of his fingers against Enjolras' cheek.

Enjolras slipped into the land of the living, blinking up at the face of the man he'd been searching for. His eyes lit up. "Gran... Grantaire?"

"Yes."

Enjolras smiled.

Their lips met, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Eponine turned her back on the pair, confused and disoriented. She closed the door behind her and made her way slowly outside.

As she stood on the promenade, face upturned to observe the clouds, she attempted to make sense of things.

_What have we learned today?_

She stared down at her hands.

_We've learned that men are _heavy.

Tossing a glance over her shoulder at the house she had just exited, she continued to ponder.

_And what else?_

Eponine shook her head. Walking resolutely in the direction of home, she gave a helpless little laugh.

_We've learned that life makes little enough sense before death. After that things just get silly. _

* * *

A/N: Aaand there you have it. If you're not a fan of this couple, don't shoot me, I'm not really a shipper either. It just sort of... came out that way? The characters ran off without me? That said, this is probably the most message-heavy the fic will ever be, so don't be too concerned about that aspect of it. Sorry again for the long wait. And before you slap me for it, I know the boys are out of character. They've had some long months, cut 'em some slack.

Maddiecake: Yeah, Grantaire's pretty awesome. Thanks for the review.

LesMisLoony: That was quite the animated review. Thank you! As I know you're one of my most observant readers, you probably picked up on the OOC Grantaire first, and I apologize again for that. He just kind of came out that way. I guess I'm tired, and it rubbed off on him.

torrentialrainsofsin: I don't think we'll tell Javert. Our little secret, ne?

CelticHeiressFiona: Eponine goes through a lot. I don't think she gets due credit for that. Thanks for reviewing, hope I didn't lose you over the break!

Cinekimi: School bites. Like a vampire. No, wait, like a ReDead from Legend of Zelda. Those things that latch onto you and suck the life out of your head while they appear to be assaulting you sexually? That's school.

Nathalie: Sorry for the wait. Thanks for your review!

Princess Shlay: Thanks for your review, I had a good laugh reading it! Hope I haven't lost you.

Chorus girl 24601: cries Scholarships are eating my SOUL! Help me please.

The Lark: Everyone's hand needs a good bite now and again. Any suggestions for making the premise less ridiculous? Like, should I word it differently?

Claire: blushes You're too kind. Thanks for your review, and please continue to read!

Sythar: I will, I will! It just might take a little longer than expected...

Delighted Reader: Thanks for reviewing! I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

LesMiserablesEponine: Whoa. It's been a while since I got a review flood like this. Might've been what finally spurred me into action. It's not often I open up my inbox and find sixteen unread reviews waiting for me. Thanks for the kick into gear, I needed that.

A/N: A final note. Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, I am about to promote another author's fanfic. This doesn't happen very often, so I strongly encourage you to check it out. If you're a fan of Legend of Zelda in any way, shape or form, look in on The Weekly Hyrule News by BatNeko. I won't post the address because it'll go all funny, but put it in the search bar if you're curious. It may seem at first glance to be another 'your favorite characters in a modern-day high school', but--well, it is, actually. In spite of this, it's one of the coolest fics I've read in a long time. Especially Dark, who you should watch out for, because he's full of awesome.

'Til next time, whenever that might be.

Minx


	18. Master of the House

A/N: Okay, I'm well aware that this is a pathetic way to return from, what, half a year of absence? More? Hell. After a few people pleaded with me to continue, I forced myself to write. As a result of this being a forced attempt, it's not as good as I wish it were. That's sad, but there's really nothing I can do. I promise you, on my mother's eventual grave, that I WILL finish this fic. I have never yet left one unfinished, and I don't intend to start now. However, it could be a long, long time before it's done. Don't even bother to check it again and again, just put it on alert and wait for the call (every couple of months). It may become less funny and more emo as college stress takes its toll, but we are of course on a spiral towards all of the characters' inevitable deaths, so that's to be expected. If you've stayed with me this far, thank you. Thank you so much for being this patient, I don't deserve you. If you've just tuned in and aren't really, really attached to this fic--get out while you still can. It's not worth it.

* * *

It wasn't that Javert was concerned

It wasn't that Javert was concerned. Heavens, no.

Javert was suspicious. There was an important difference, though he wasn't willing to address its significance. Not that it had any. No significance at all, really. Certainly not. Whatever gave you that impression?

Eponine had been visiting Mable. Frequently. In Javert's mind, there were only two valid reasons for anyone to visit Mable:

1.) As-yet-unnoticed masochistic tendencies, or

2.) A secret. Possibly of a dangerous nature.

So he felt perfectly justified in going to Mable's place of residence one fine spring morning to investigate the source of his con-- _suspicion._

Mable had noticed him coming up the walk and opened the door before he could so much as raise his trusty Stick of Justice to knock. "Oh, if it isn't Mr. Javert! Where are my manners? Come in, come in! How are you? Hasn't the weather just been lovely? You have been eating well, haven't you, dear? If your darling Eponine ever needs a rest from kitchen duties, I have a marvelous cook in my employ who would be more than happy to--"

In a desperate attempt to stop her from wearing a hole in his head with her incessant chatter, Javert flung himself into the path of her rampaging monologue. "EponinehasbeencomingherequiteoftenIwonderifyoucouldtellmewhy!"

His explosive inquiry didn't faze Mable in the slightest. Like any experienced gossip, she could understand speech at a speed much more rapid than that displayed by Javert. "Oh, of course, dear! Didn't you know? She's been visiting my darling boys! There are two of them now, isn't that wonderful? Eponine, the little angel, brought another darling in just a couple of weeks ago! Well, I don't need to tell you they're as thick as thieves now, and full of the energy of youth! But you know boys, Mr. Javert, of course, after all you have a little one of your own! I say, how is your little cherub? I haven't seen your precious Gavroche in a while, tell him from me he's welcome to a slice of plum pie whenever he likes! I'm always sure to have a plum pie in the house. After all, you can't be too careful! My grandmother always used to tell me, 'Mable, you mustn't ever be caught without a plum pie! You never know when you'll be minding your own business, and suddenly there's an army at the door hungry for a good plum pie!'. Of course, my dear grandmother was usually out of her head, but nevertheless--"

Javert tipped his hat so quickly that he almost knocked it off of his head. "ThankyouMadameyou'vebeenagreathelp!"

He was halfway down the walk before Mable realized he had gone. She stuttered to a halt in the middle of a detailed story about her great aunt Mina (who had had a rather dreadful run-in with some Transylvanians and gone quite mad, the poor thing, but with those Transylvanians after all, who could blame her, they were such a distasteful lot, you'd never catch Mable wearing an opera cape in the springtime, I mean really), and blinked after him.

Her brain, like a well-meaning sloth, trundled slowly along. Failing to find any valid reason for her companion's flight, she shrugged lightly and smiled with enough force to knock a regiment off its feet. And speaking of regiments, you never knew when you'd have to feed one, and why not have the maid fetch an extra basket of plums when she went to market...

_So,_ Javert pondered, _Eponine is consorting with the neighbors. The neighbor _boys_. And there are _two_ of them._

_We mustn't jump to conclusions. Perhaps they all make decoupage together._

Javert did not, admittedly, know much about women. His experiences with them had been limited, and usually involved either nuns or tramps. Considering Eponine's background, his immediate inclination was to classify her as the latter. However, in the time he had spent under the same roof with her she had seldom acted in a manner that would not at least marginally suit the former. This confused Javert rather terribly.

The former policeman rested his forehead against the butt of his palm. _There is no trial in the universe more aggravating than fatherhood..._

His train of thought screeched to a halt. There was a hippopotamus on the tracks.

Fatherhood? Surely not. He was _playing_ a father, that didn't make him a paternal figure! He was a policeman, for Heaven's sake! What's more, he was _Javert!_ Javert was not a father! Javert despised children!

But... no, he _didn't._ He liked Edmund and his band, he liked little Secret... And Gavroche? And Eponine?

He wasn't sure. Well, he knew he _liked_ them... he could hardly deny that. He'd sat and read _fairy tales_ to them, after all, and he wouldn't have done that for Christ himself.

And therein lay the problem.

There was something here. Just a little further down this road, a big, important _something_ was waiting to ambush him. Fearing that it might be a lion, he folded that particular introspection into a tidy little parcel and packed it away neatly in a box marked _DO NOT OPEN_.

There would be time for that later.

For now, he had some _suspicion_ of a _completely un-fatherly_ nature to address.

* * *

A/N: So there you have it. I'm really, really trying, I swear, but... I just don't know how long this is going to take. I don't have any acceptable excuses--nobody's died, I'm not going through any kind of emotional crisis. The plotbunny escaped. So I'll dig, but I can't guarantee diamonds.

There have been far too many reviews to respond to them all, but I thank each and every one of you with all my heart. Your words mean more to me than you can possibly know, and I smiled every time I read them. You're the only thing that keeps me going.


	19. Confrontation

A/N: *sighs* Okay guys, I know you're going to hate me for this. I kind of hate me for this. But facts are facts. I waited around for months for the inspiration to finish this behemoth of a creature, but... it didn't come. So here's what I have. I poked and patched until the last few chapters fit somewhat with the rest of the story, but... it's an obvious rush-job. This is what I decided to do instead of just leaving it unfinished. I'm still not sure if I made the right choice, and if I didn't I'm sorry. But I can't have this hanging over my head anymore. That said, try to enjoy--I wish I didn't have to do this.

* * *

It was not in Javert's nature to be tactful. Tact was for people who lacked his natural subtlety. It was also for people who did not routinely carry large sticks slung over their shoulders.

Neither of these descriptions suited Javert.

So it was with an absolute lack of tact that he confronted Eponine in the foyer. "Are you or are you not consorting in an illicit manner with the neighbor boys?"

Eponine stared.

Javert stared back.

"Please tell me you're joking."

"I assure you that I am not."

"Well you ought to be. No, I am not consorting in an illicit whatever with the neighbor boys."

Javert considered this response, and promptly disregarded it. "I do not believe you."

Eponine pursed her lips.

So it was that half an hour later Javert found two revolutionaries sitting in his parlor, both looking extraordinarily uncomfortable.

It had taken a lot of explaining. He still didn't quite understand it. And now he was at a loss.

Gavroche was not helping.

"Dunno about ol' stick-up-his-arse, but I'm sure happy you're both kickin'!" The urchin grinned at the two men, who tried to smile back. Unfortunately, the smiles were caught in customs and didn't quite make it across the room.

"So." All attention focused on Javert. "You are both alive."

"Yes, Inspector."

"Alive and... here."

"Yes, Inspector."

"Alive and here and... our neighbors."

Graintaire groaned. "Yes, Inspector, but we won't be the first one forever so please hurry it up."

A look from Javert silenced him.

That silence was followed by more silence.

"Alive and here and our neighbors and..."

"Oh for _pity's_ sake, yes, yes, all of those things. They also happen to be my friends and very good people, so if you'd kindly wrap your head around this I'd be eternally grateful."

Javert glared. "I am _trying_."

"Try harder!"

Javert leapt to his feet. "You bring dead revolutionaries into my house and I am supposed to _accept_ this with open arms?! They challenge everything I hold most dear! Everything I stand for! You cannot possibly mean to imply that you wish me to _welcome_ them, not knowing who they are!"

By now Gavroche was on his feet and backing away. Eponine was doing the opposite, planting herself in front of the inspector. "I can and I _do_. If you haven't forgotten, _Inspector Javert_, you do not stand for those things _anymore._"

Gavroche's back hit the bureau. The lamp fell, freshly-filled oil cavity shattering.

And then there was chaos.

* * *

A/N: There are too many reviews to respond to. You're all much kinder to me than I deserve. I hope the next chapter, which is almost untampered from the original final chapter I wrote a long time ago, lives up to what you expect form me.


	20. Finale

The first thing they noticed was that the white had a floor now. It was marble, and very nice. Good solid stuff.

The Administrator of Heaven was glaring at them over his glasses. "What do you have to say for yourselves?"

There was a long silence.

"Ow?" Gavroche ventured.

"What my brother means," Eponine intoned, "Is that we have completed our task."

The Administrator snorted. "You have."

Gavroche was still a little dazed. "So now we get to go to heaven, right?"

"Oh yes, of course, go right on ahead."

They stared at one another in confusion. Finally, they began to walk by the Administrator.

A hand stopped Javert mid-step.

"Not so fast. They are cleared. You are not."

Javert stared for a moment, then his shoulders dropped. "Yes. I had suspected as much."

Eponine and Gavroche whirled around. _"What?"_

"You completed your task," the Administrator explained, "But you were not _successful_. Javert was not significantly redeemed. He is bound for hell."

Gavroche grabbed the Administrator's coattails. "You listen to me—"

Eponine interrupted. "There must be some mistake. He cares for us—"

The Administrator shook his head. "That is up for debate. The bargain is not complete. In the fire, he allowed you to die."

"He died trying to save us!"

"And he failed."

"HEY."

All eyes turned to Gavroche.

"Who's in charge here?"

"Well, that would be--"

"Take us to him."

The Administrator blinked, nonplussed, but finally shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He led them down a long hallway, twisting and curling through spaces that shouldn't exist, and into a room the size of which they could not be sure.

The Administrator bowed low. "The three barricade cases you inquired about, My Lady."

They stared.

Seated behind a sturdy wooden desk, at the end of a long, unadorned room was the most terrifying woman any of them had ever seen. Her long platinum hair flowed unbound down her back, which was ramrod straight. Intense blue eyes stared out from behind round, wire-rimmed glasses which sat on a perfect, angular nose. She wore a plain gray double-breasted jacket and slacks with a blue ascot.

She was beautiful. There was no denying it. But she radiated power of a nature so absolute that she became master of whatever domain she found herself in.

"Well?" she snapped, white-gloved hands reaching out to extract a document from the pile of papers on her desk.

Eponine and Gavroche looked instinctively to Javert, but for the first time in his life (or afterlife, for that matter) the former policeman was cowed. "I, ah... who...?"

A polite cough reminded them that the Administrator was still present. They turned to him, seeking some explanation. Adjusting his glasses, he stared down his nose at each of them in turn. "You have the honor of addressing Her Divine Grace, Mother of All Creation, The Alpha and The Omega, the Omnipresent and Omnipotent Power Beyond Powers, Queen of Queens, the—"

"Yes, thank you Gabriel, that's enough." She was gazing steadily at the family of mortals before her. "Now. Explain to us what you three are doing in the middle of our bloody office."

With his face set in an expression more grim than usual, Javert squared his shoulders and stepped forward. However, before he could speak, Eponine and Gavroche pushed in front of him. Eponine was the first to speak. "My Lady," she said, her voice quivering, "I beg of you. Don't take Javert away from my brother and I. It wasn't his fault that we died! There was no way he could have saved us. I would sooner condemn myself to the Flames than Javert. Please, have mercy!"

Divinity's face never changed in its severe expression. "We see no reason for us to make an exception in our agreement. This man let you die--surely he cannot, then, truly care for you."

Gavroche stormed forward. Javert reached out to grasp at his collar, but his fingers fell just short and the little urchin marched straight up to the desk of The Almighty. "Now you listen here! Javert's a good father, and I should know, I've had a bad one! You can't toss him out on the seat of his damn trousers just 'cause he don't fit every letter in the twice-accursed contract! Throw me into whatever fiery pit you like, but—"

"_THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH, GAVROCHE THENARDIER."_ The Absolute did not change in her stature, nor did she move so much as an inch from her original position. Nonetheless, she seemed in that moment to grow. Suddenly she was the earth and the sky, the sand and the sea, the sun and the moon. She was every man, woman and child who had ever been born, or ever would be. She was the world.

And then, quite abruptly, she was not.

"You're free to go." She returned to her paperwork, waving absent-mindedly to the wall on the left where, quite suddenly, there really was no wall at all. Instead a pair of silver-white gates swung open, revealing an endless expanse of—

Well. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.

Javert stared back at the woman behind the desk, who was now casually reading through some sheet of divine hogwash. "I don't understand."

The Supreme Power scrawled an unintelligible signature at the bottom of the document. "We knew, of course, that you cared for them—you gave your life in an attempt to save theirs, do you think we are completely daft? Until now, however, we were not certain that _they_ had come to love _you_. After all, that was a part of our agreement. But, considering the fact that in their ways they both offered themselves in your stead, we believe we have confirmed their affection."

Eponine stared. "So, this was all—"

"A test, yes. You are _dismissed_. I still have those revolutionaries to deal with, I can't be bothered with you all day."

Gavroche was aghast. "Of all the stupid bloody—" But Eponine had clapped a hand over his mouth.

Javert was still blinking in awe at the bespectacled woman who had just casually wiped his slate clean. He felt a tug, and looked down to see the Thenardier children gazing up at him. Slowly, a genuine smile spread across his face. Taking each of them by the hand, he turned to face the Pearly Gates.

Gavroche looked thoughtful. "You don't suppose Heaven has peach tarts, do you?"

Javert shrugged. "I'm sure we can arrange for some."

Eponine rolled her eyes. "Men. Off to Paradise, and all you can think of are your stomachs."

And so, laughing, Javert, Eponine and Gavroche crossed the border into Eternity.

*

God looked up briefly to watch them go, shaking her head. "It's a bloody inconvenience."

"Then why do you do it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Why do you think?"

In the center of the room a man materialized. He wore a long red coat to match his red fedora, and his wild black hair fell across burning scarlet eyes. "A sense of love and compassion for the human race?" He grinned.

The Ultimate let out a barking laugh. "Too often I forget your comedic genius, Lucifer."

Suddenly he was behind her, removing one of her white gloves to play with her fingers. "Ah, but it's true!" He sounded delighted.

She sighed. "Am I so transparent?"

He laughed. "Only to me, Holy Ghost." Then his expression changed. He bared his teeth. "When are the little ones' parents due?"

"In their _time_, Satan, as always."

"I could teach them something of evil—"

Her lips caught his. "Easy, Beast. The world turns. Good and Evil are not ours to control."

With a chuckle, he buried his face in her hair. "Then who holds the strings of Fate, my Ancient of Days?"

Yahweh smiled. "Who else but Man?"

* * *

A/N: The end. I'm sorry if that didn't float your boat, but at least I didn't leave you hanging. If you recognized God and the Devil congratulations, you watch too much Hellsing. And I hope you don't hate me forever now. I probably won't be posting here a lot anymore, I think I'm sort of done with .

You can fine me on y!Gallery if you like. Under the name CantikErsatz.

If you've stuck with me all through this, thank you. I don't deserve you. And I really hope I haven't ruined everything with these last chapters.

That's all.


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